18,000 Seconds
by PointYourFeetAndCAPsLetters
Summary: Tris is a young professional modern dancer until her career is jeopardized after a series of accidents that may keep her from preforming. Tobias Eaton, a prodigious male dancer, is called in to learn Tris's dances. While struggling to keep her spot in the company, Tris learns that her 'accidents' and Tobias Eaton are deeply connected.
1. Chapter 1

**Great Dancers aren't great because of their technique; they are great because of their passion. **

**unkown**

**The most used letter in the English alphabet is 'E' while the least used letter is 'Q'.**

**Chapter 1 **

The average dance is about three minutes long.

They say that each minute of a dance takes an hour to learn, so a three minute dance takes three hours to learn.

Those hours don't include stretching, polishing the moves, or waiting for the choreographer to remember a move they didn't write down.

Add another 15 minutes onto those hours for learning formations.

There are also technique classes that teachers schedule every chance they get. These classes can be anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours.

This adds up to at least five hours of practice to learn one dance.

That's 300 minutes.

18,000 seconds.

All for one dance.

These 18,000 seconds exclude dress rehearsals and performances.

Do all of these things at least twice, if not three, four or even ten times, and you can get a feel for what a dancer does. You won't understand completely, but you're not meant to. That's part of the magic that I love.

That magic does come with a price.

Everyday ends with me collapsing into bed, but I don't mind.

I don't have friends either, I only have fellow dancers. We mingle out of necessity and loneliness, but what we call friendship is actually a strange, mutual respect for each other.

I don't get to see my family a lot, but I don't have time to waste on missing them.

I can not imagine living another life.

To me, a life without dance is no life at all.

"Somebody call the ambulance!" screamed Marcus, our resident choreographer, as he rushed to my side.

I didn't dare to move. My arms were lying raggedly at my side, but they felt alright. My legs were another matter. I couldn't feel my right one while my left leg burned with a pain that centered in my thigh.

People raced around the studio either on their phones or forming a circle near me. They kept asking if I was okay.

I glanced at the pained spot in my thigh.

"W-what the hell?" I stammered.

A bullet wound was on my thigh, staining the floor with fresh blood. Frantically looking for the shooter, I noticed broken glass all over the studio floor. An alarming red reflected off the shards.

All of the blood made my head spin.

"Tris," Will said. He kneeled near my head and stroked my hair. "It'll be alright, okay? The ambulance will be here soon and you'll be back in the studio before you know it. A bullet wound can't stop Tris Prior, right?" His voice shook at the end. "Right?"

I tried to tell him that not even the apocalypse could stop Tris Prior, but instead I puked and lost consciousness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

I woke up as the ambulance drove over a pot hole. Two paramedics surrounded me, reporting to each other that I had woken up. A breathing mask was over my face and the lower half of my body was numb.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?" a masked paramedic asked.

"Numb," I breathed.

A voice in the back of the ambulance chuckled. "Numb isn't a number, Tris," Will grinned and walked to my side. "If you have enough energy to be sassy, I think I wasted my time worrying whether you'd live or not."

I tried to grin back, but my face was broken. "Can you… call my family? They'll… want to know." I was having trouble catching a breath.

"I called Caleb. He said he'd call your parents and tell them what happened. He also said that I should never allow you into the dance studio again until all of the gangs in Chicago are wiped out."

"It was… a gang?" I coughed.

Will shrugged. "Everyone says that the bullet had strayed from a gang fight. I mean, this is the city. A gang fight isn't like a rare Pokemon card."

A car horn blared.

The ambulance did a donut, throwing all passengers roughly to the side. The breathing mask disconnected as I rolled off the gurney and landed near Will.

There was silence for a moment as we realized that something was wrong.

I didn't see the car when it rammed the side of the ambulance, but I certainly felt it.

x.x.x.x..x.x.x.x.x.x.

I had woken up two hours ago in a stereotypical white hospital room. The experience was enhanced when I realized that my clothes had been replaced by a childish hospital gown. Tubes ran in and out of my body, but I couldn't move to see what they were connected to.

The 'Call Nurse' button taunted me. I stared at the gleaming red button that sat on the edge of the bed and just out of arm's reach.

It wasn't long before a nurse and, soon after, the doctor came in.

"You've had a pretty unlucky day, Mrs. Prior, so I am excited to give you some positive news. Your injuries were initially life threatening, but they've been patched up nicely," Dr. Flat said as he leafed through his clipboard. "The bullet wound ripped through tendons in your thigh, so we put stitches in. There were deep cuts from glass on your arms and torso, so those are stitched as well. Three fingers on your right hand are broken from the crash. We tested you for head trauma, but didn't find anything. Do you have any questions?"

I had a lot of questions. Would the bullet wound affect my dancing? Was Will okay? Where did he go? What happened to the car that hit us? Did the police learn anything about the person who shot me?

But I couldn't ask any of them because, when I opened my mouth to speak, no sound came out.

**A/N- I plan on making this story have short chapters that are updated often. The problem with that is that I'm going out of town tomorrow, so the 'often' part of the previous sentence doesn't kick in until Saturday or Sunday. **

**I know a lot of stuff happened in this first chapter, but I'd like feedback on what you think of what's happened, so please review **


	2. Chapter 2

**We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. ~Japanese Proverb**

**Did you know that dancers have better than average peripheral vision? Head angles are prescribed by the dance, so dancers have to use their eyes themselves if they want to look to the side, without turning their heads**

"Is something wrong?" The doctor asked.

I tried talking again, but no sound came out. Panic bubbled in my chest as I frantically motioned to my mouth.

Finally, the doctor understood what was going on. He launched into a set of yes or no questions that were all about my head. Every answer was scribbled into his notebook until there were no more possible brain questions to ask.

"It's possible that we missed something during our scans of your head," he tapped his clipboard anxiously, "but the more likely answer is that this is a physiological problem. To be safe, we'll run a few more tests on you."

'A few' turned out to be 'A lot.' As in, a lot of Tris Prior's head and/or body parts being shoved into metal death traps that might catch on fire sometime during the night when Miss Prior accidentally spills gasoline all over them.

Oops.

The tests ended eventually and the doctor told me that both my brain and voice box were fine, so being mute was my fault. He didn't say it like that, but I read between the lines.

I was then given a private room where I gleefully watched horrible reality shows and mentally judged the contestants.

I had been sucked into my blissful reality show world for a two-hour special of America's Next Top Model and a frustrating episode of Dance Mom's when my phone rang. I picked it up without a second thought.

"Hello? Beatrice?" My dad said.

My hand shook. I couldn't explain to my dad that I was no longer Beatrice, and that I hadn't been for a long time. I couldn't even say hello.

"Are you okay? Beatrice?" He repeated it over and over again.

Until then, being mute hadn't seemed like a catastrophe. Being mute wouldn't affect my ability to dance (unlike my other injuries). I could still see, hear, smell, taste and touch. The only difference would be that people couldn't hear my undeniable wit.

But, when I couldn't answer my dad, an impulsive rage consumed me. I chucked the phone at the wall. It shattered, scattering pieces of metal everywhere. I was sure that if I didn't have a cheap ass flip phone the damage wouldn't have been so bad, but I was poor.

I was also too poor to pay for my hospital bill, but I ignored that.

Someone knocked on the door. They walked in without waiting for an answer.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've called you wondering what was going on?" Caleb ranted.

_Nice to see you, too._

"Honestly, Tris, everyone is worried sick about you," he continued as he walked to my bedside. Caleb folded his arms and sighed, "And then I get this call from dad saying that you picked up the phone, didn't say anything, and then hung up. Although, it appears that you either threw your phone at the wall or a ghost did it for you. The only question is why?"

I didn't move a muscle. From experience, I knew that I had to wait for Caleb's anxiety to thin out before doing anything.

He picked up a piece of my broken phone, "When I tried to call Will again, no body picked up. I guess it doesn't matter that I have no idea how to navigate this damn city and had to tell the cab driver to drop me off at the first nice hotel he found, which happened to be the damn Four Seasons*. I also had no idea what hospital you were at, so I went to your dance studio to ask if someone knew. That place is a mess, by the way. There's still blood on the floor, so nobody was dancing today. All of the company members were cluelessly trying to look up blood stain remover recipes when I got there."

I snickered silently. Everyone in the company was pretty useless when it came to anything except dancing.

Caleb continued, "Christina told me where you were. I've got to say that they've taken you to the farthest hospital as possible, so the cab fare here was ridiculous. Now, when I got here, I asked the receptionist where Tris Prior was and do you know what she said? She said, 'Oh, that poor girl who got shot and hit by a car in the same day?' Nobody said you got hit by a car! Then the receptionist said that the poor boy you were with was still in critical condition, but I can't visit him and neither can you because we're not family. I still haven't told mom and dad any of this, mind you, and would really appreciate a bottle or maybe even a case of beer."

We were silent for a few seconds.

"Now that I'm here," Caleb said. His voice was winding down, "you haven't made one smart ass remark. So, I'm pretty sure that you're extremely not okay."

_Don't worry, Caleb. I've made plenty of smart ass remarks in my head._

The door burst open.

"Hey, man, what happened to knocking?" Caleb complained with a sneer.

My new guest was Marcus. Caleb wasn't a fan of his and I only tolerated him because he put me in the front during dances. Marcus was rich and liked to play mind games with the company, which stressed us out. When the company got stressed, we made up rumors about our rich choreographer because, honestly, no one became rich dancing.

One of the better ones was that Marcus ran a brothel in his spare time. The brothel would have theme nights such as sexy Santa night, and everything would take place in a high scale underground club. I take full credit for making that up. (Unless Marcus asked. Then, it was all Christina's idea.)

"I'd prefer it if you didn't test me, Mister Prior," Marcus stated in a light New York accent. "I've come to check on my dancer."

That was another thing I disliked: being called _his _dancer. It made me sound like a stripper.

Marcus continued, "Rehearsals are a little behind now, so I have much to clear up in a short amount of time."

"Can't you see that she's still injured?" Caleb interjected. "This isn't the time to talk about dance. She hasn't spoken once since I've been here. She sure as hell won't talk to you."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "It is always the time to talk about dance. Anyways, ignoring your ignorant brother, the owner, director, and I have reached a decision. Because we do not know when you can dance again, we will bring in an understudy dancer. The dancer will learn all of your material in both our new and old routines. When you are healed, we will decide if the understudy will take over your part permanently or simply stay and understudy."

That was bull shit. I would never let myself be replaced. I tried not to worry too much, though. Who ever this newbie was would be crushed by the onslaught of choreography and become mentally damaged because their brain couldn't handle so much information at once.

"Tris is being awfully quiet. Was her brain affected in the crash?" Marcus asked. Caleb gave me an I-told-you-so-so-can-you-make-a-smart-ass-comment- now look.

I shrugged. It was entertaining to let Caleb and Marcus interact.

_I'm a sadistic person._

"If you have nothing to say on the matter, I will be going then. Get better quickly," Marcus swiftly left the room.

"He rubs me the wrong way," Caleb whined the moment Marcus shut the door. "I mean, he walks like a girl. There's a little bounce in his step that says 'I should be wearing a skirt and heels.'"

I was unable to add that the bounce could possibly be from having a past as a master trampoline sex god. (Yet another rumor about Marcus. They all involved black markets, sex, or generally illegal things. To be honest, though, he was probably some sort of stock trader.)

x.x..x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I was released four days later. The doctor said I had to visit weekly for check ups, which I found to be over excessive. I'd probably skip a few of them. Since there was nothing physically wrong with my brain, the doctor said I'd have to try and figure out what traumatized me the most to fix it (that's the most unhelpful piece of shit information I've ever gotten. He also suggested finding a therapist, to which I mentally responded 'no way in hell.') There was a cast on my fingers scheduled to come off in two months, and the stitches were gone in three weeks. No dancing was allowed until the stitches were off.

Damn it all.

I heard from Caleb that Will was still considered critical. There had been a small scare with his heart stopping one night, but it was fixed. I had no idea what that meant for his spot on the company.

Despite what my brain told me, I was not the least bit disgusted that I was thinking about Will's spot on the company instead of his life. In a way, the company and life were pretty connected.

Upon my urging, Caleb had convinced mom and dad not to come into town. The only reason I got him to do that was because Marcus had just left and the doctor had told Caleb I was mute moments before. I felt bad about not figuring out a way to tell Caleb I was mute earlier, but the look on his face when the doctor said it sent me into intense silent laughter that the doctor almost mistook for a seizure.

The next day, after being released, I showed up to rehearsal. I brought a pen and paper with so that I could communicate and dressed in street clothes. Never before had a dancer worn street clothes to rehearsal before. I relished in how annoyed Marcus would be.

Everyone knew I couldn't dance at rehearsal, but I didn't dare to not show up. I'd sit on the side and watch.

When I arrived, I was greeted with a flurry of hellos and questions about my health. Caleb had communicated to everyone that I was mute, so they knew to expect my bad hand writing and numerous hand signals.

The studio had been cleaned up nicely. The broken glass was replaced and the blood was faded enough to look like spilled drinks.

I normally didn't care what the studio looked like, but today I relished in being back. The studio was rectangular with mirrors on the front and right walls. The left wall had the door and a row of posters and medals from past performances while the back wall had a row of stock windows with their new glass and a ballet bar running along the middle. It was like coming home.

After everyone settled down and started stretching, I pulled out a metal chair and sat in the corner. I tried not to let it show that I was exhausted from that little bit of walking. My leg hurt like hell. Fuck. Fuck. Not a good start.

Christina came up to me and started stretching.

I scribbled on my notepad. _Do you know anything about Will's spot on the company?  
_"There's talk of them terminating it altogether instead of having another replacement," Christina reached for her toes.

_Do you know anything about my understudy?_

"His name is Four."

***The Four Seasons is the most expensive hotel in Chicago**

**Thanks to laurel-madness, MyBookLife, ValeriaCarolina, and moonlight (guest) for reviewing. It means a lot!**

**A/N- Thanks for all the reviews!**

**I thought it would be good to tell you guys that I'm a dancer, so I know about everything I write about. If something doesn't make sense because it's a dance term, feel free to ask me what it means. Sometimes I forget that everyone doesn't know them.**

**Leave a review and tell me what you think! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Quick note- modern dancers dance barefoot or in foot underwear. In this story they will be barefoot.**

**First ballet dancer**** that used pointe shoes was ****Marie Taglioni**** in 1832 ballet "La Sylphide"**

**Dancing is moving to the music without stepping on anyone's toes, pretty much the same as life. ~Robert Brault**

_Four? _I scribbled furiously. _The prodigy dancer? I thought he did ballet? That's a pretty big switch._

Christina shrugged and started doing lunges. "Apparently Marcus knows him really well and convinced him to come here. You'll have to get a miracle recovery if you want your spot back."

_That's encouraging. Notice the sarcasm? What's Four's real name anyways?_

"No idea," Christina slid into the splits. "I only know that he got the nickname for his amazing turn sequence."

I drew a giant question mark on the paper.

"He can do a perfect set of four pirouettes*."

I motioned to the question mark again. Four pirouettes wasn't unusual. A professional dancer had to do at least three.

"By the time he was six."

Oh. I could barely do a single pirouette at that age.

_Well, fuck him. Just because he could twirl in a circle more times than me when we were younger doesn't mean anything. _

"I don't know, Tris. I think you should be a bit more worried. I've heard through the grape vine that he can do somewhere around 20 pirouettes now**."

I gaped. This guy was a monster. He probably did drugs. I hoped he did drugs.

"Dancers, I have an announcement to make before we get started," Marcus clapped his hands. Dancers moved to sit in a circle near him. Christina joined them and gave me a small, pitying smile.

I didn't need pity. I needed Four to tragically fall off a balcony or drown in the bathtub.

"As many of you know, we are bringing in an understudy," Marcus grinned. "His name is Four and-"

"Let's get started, Marcus. I don't need an intro," a male voice drawled. A man about my age walked into the room, except walked is the wrong word. Floated describes him better. Hair so dark that it was almost black covered his head and peculiar blue eyes scanned the dancers in the room, apathetically lingering on Marcus.

He was the poster child for a dancer's body: tight butt, muscular everything, and horrendous feet. Not to mention that he was hot.

If I was lucky, his hotness would make him melt into a pile of goo on the floor.

Four in the flesh gave me the chills. I found small satisfaction in the way he seemed uncomfortable being barefoot.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

The company launched into their daily technique class. I spent the whole time praying that Four would trip over his own feet, but there was no such luck. He danced with undeniable grace. I'm sure that even if he fell it would be graceful.

It wasn't long before the company launched into repertoire rehearsal. Marcus had created a new dance titled The Sky Is Black. It was supposed to be an intense piece about inner demons and desire.

The first thing Marcus said was, "We start this dance on this floor."

"What?" Four's voice echoed through the room. His eyes were about to pop out of his head.

Everyone stared at him. Little smirks were on all our faces. I guess prestigious ballet boy has never touched the ground in his life***.

"I said, Four, that we are starting on the ground," Marcus repeated. He was frustratingly calm.

_If I had been in Four's position, I would have been scolded._

From there, Marcus continued to teach the dance. It had very solid, sharp movements that involved different tempos and low levels. Four picked the moves up in seconds. Every flick of his wrist or nod of his head was beautiful.

But it was all so, so wrong that I wanted to cry.

Modern dance wasn't about beauty. It was about reality and intensity, both of which Four did not seem to grasp. My spot on the company had never seemed more solid.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Four, you've got to let go of that tightness," Marcus was getting annoyed. It had been a long day for the dancers and Four had yet to grasp modern dancing. "Be free with your dancing. You dance like I have my hand up your ass."

Not long after, Marcus called it a day.

The first thing Four did was approach me.

"I need your help," He said in a monotone.

Both pissed and curious, I asked, _Why should I help you? _

"I can't read that horrible handwriting," Four growled.

No longer curious, only extremely pissed, I took my sweet time writing the same thing in huge block letters.

"I'll take you out for drinks."

I admit that I was tempted. I hadn't gone drinking in a long time, mostly because I didn't want to show up to rehearsal hung-over, but also because I was a victim of a dancer's poor salary.

It also sounded like a date.

I shook my head.

Bad Tris, no fraternizing with the enemy.

"Look," Four sighed, exasperated. He had probably never had someone say no to him before. "I need you to help me with modern dancing. I'm only doing this because- you know what, you don't need to know. I don't plan on staying here, though."

I was upset. Someone who didn't like modern had no place in this studio. I mean, the entire situation was rather arrogant of Four. My fellow dancers have been trying to perfect modern dance all their lives while Four thinks he can waltz in and understand it in one day.

That asshole.

"I see that look on your face. I know this deal is confusing and doesn't sound good for you, but hear me out. Marcus only brought me here for one performance. If I do well in that, I'll be gone and your spot on the company will be fine for the rest of the season. I'll even teach you the choreography myself that you miss."

Mulling it over, I wonder how I'll be able to get Four to tell me why Marcus brought him in just to let him leave.

This deal was in my favor. I didn't understand how having Four do well would help my situation or why I should be nice to him, but there weren't any other ways for me to learn the choreography. Three weeks from now, all of the other members would rather be sleeping in their spare time.

I'd have to miss our first performance anyway. It was in four weeks and I could never learn the missed choreography by then, but, with Four's help, I could learn in time for the second performance.

Sighing, I wasn't committed to the idea just yet.

However, I did scribble _Let's go get drunk, then, asshole._

**Note- these are all pretty basic dictionary definitions of the move. I suggest looking at pictures or videos to get a real idea of what they are.**

*******body spin when dancing: a spin of the body, especially one performed in ballet on tiptoe or on the ball of one foot**

**** The world record for number of pirouettes in a row is 54. The record holder is Sophia Lucia (she's young (somewhere around 10, but I'm not positive) and amazing and basically a dance idol.) However, she was wearing tap shoes when she did the 54 turns, which makes it easier to turn more. Four does his turns in ballet shoes or barefoot.**

***** In ballet, you never go on the ground, ever, but in modern it's a common thing.**

**Thanks to MyBookLife, GingerDivergent, and Guest for reviewing the last chapter!**

**Don't forget to review and give me feedback!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Professional dan****ce**** is today regarded as one of the most demanding physical abilities and sports. According to studies, 80% of all professional dances have at least one major injury during their career and staggering 93% of all dance teachers were forced into that position after career ending injury.**

** Each day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

Four took me to a nice bar. A really nice bar that sold expensive drinks, which I would make sure to buy without restraint. The bartender didn't even bat an eye when I had to write down my order instead of say it.

"I have a question," Four stated. Reluctantly, I stopped guzzling my margarita. "How do you plan on teaching me modern? I'd like to know to reassure myself that you're not going to tell me to 'feel the music' after I've bought you your weight in drinks."

_Ideally, you'll buy both our weight, _I wrote with a grin.

Four's eyebrow shot up. "You're already starting to sway after half a margarita. It's like you haven't had a drink in years."

_Three years, to be exact. That's when I joined the company._

Not that the asshole needed to know that, but I could tell that my hand writing was starting to get even messier and enjoyed watching him struggle to read it.

"It's none of my business," Four shrugged. "You avoided my question, though."

_You have to feel the music._

Then, I downed the rest of my drink and waved at the bartender for another. Four watched me carefully, unable to tell if I was serious or not. Good. I don't want the guy to be able to read me.

Four changed the subject, "I heard that Will is going to be cut from the company for good. Have you visited him in the hospital?"

I slammed my drink onto the bar, sending the electric blue liquid splashing everywhere. There was no way Asshole should know anything about Will.

Four continued, "I guess that means no. Marcus told me that he is finally stable, but it'll be a solid month until the guy is out of the hospital. He had pretty intense internal bleeding and some brain damage. Still no visitors allowed, but Marcus decided to terminate Will's spot on the company. The hospital said he hasn't woken up yet and they aren't sure if Will's brain damage has affected his ability to move."

_How come no one told me? _I wrote furiously. _Marcus doesn't have a humane bone in his body. He has no care for Will. What can Will do now? He won't be able- _my pen snapped in half.

Glancing around for another pen, I didn't see the man approach Four until Four greeted him. "What do you want, Peter," Four said, sighing.

"Nice to see you too, Four," Peter grinned. "Who's your pretty girlfriend?"

Since I had broken my pen, there was no way for me to tell Peter that I friend zoned Four to the maximum level. Friend zone might be too nice of a word. Maybe I'd call it rival zoned.

Instead, I hit Four with my notebook. I should have hit Peter, but my mother always said that I should at least wait until I got to know somebody before I started hitting them. (Don't get me wrong, she tried to get me to stop hitting people too. When I couldn't seem to stop, she changed her game plan.)

Four moved on like Peter hadn't said anything. "Peter, this is Tris. She's from the modern company that Marcus choreographs for. Tris, this is Peter. He dances in my ballet company."

I watched Peter carefully. He wasn't an unattractive guy, but he held himself too tall and his eyes flickered back and forth like a snake's.

"How's the modern dancing going, man? You must have it so easy right now," Peter smirked.

"They want me to roll on the floor, Peter. It's… unnatural. I'll definitely be back at the ballet company for the next show, don't worry. I won't let you get the main role two shows in a row," Four wouldn't look my way.

"Don't count on it. While you're rolling on the floor like a barbarian, I'll be getting even better. I would have gotten the main role in this show even if you hadn't left."

Drinking as much as possible was the only thing that kept me from punching Peter. Honestly, the guy just called me a barbarian.

"Modern dance isn't all shits and giggles," Four finally glanced at me. "It's not as big of a step down from ballet as I thought."

"It's only hard _because _it's a step down from ballet," Peter clicked his tongue. "The lack of technique involved is appalling. Any real trained dancer could never do such a thing."

"I admit, modern is pretty damn weird. I don't understand why Marcus loves it so much."

These two guys were insulting modern dance to my face. I could feel the heat rushing through my body and turning me beet red.

I signaled the bartender and repeatedly made the hand motion for writing until he got the idea and brought me a pen.

"The entire company is going to go see you perform modern. We're looking forward to a laugh." Peter continued. "I've-"

Screw my mom and politeness. The boys were asking for it. I smacked both Peter and Four on the arms until they turned red.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Peter growled.

_Peter- you're a pretentious ass wipe that I would like to chop up and feed to a hamster. Four- you're an asshole. Have fun learning modern on your own._

I gulped down the rest of my drink and stormed out of the room.

Right before I left, I heard Peter ask Four what happened.

"I think we insulted her," Four sounded genuinely confused.

x.x.x.x.x..x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I tried walking home, but, only a couple minutes after starting, my anger faded away into pain. I sat on the first bench I found and relaxed my leg. I knew I could never make it home, so I texted Caleb and asked him to pick me up.

Caleb rolled up a few minutes later.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked.

I got in the front seat and hit him with my notebook.

"Is that a no? You look drunk. Are you one of those mean drunks? If you're going to puke, open the window."

Caleb's attitude was driving me crazy. He started driving, but only stayed quiet for a few seconds.

"How's your understudy?" Caleb asked. "Is he amazing?"

I don't know why that question sent me over the edge, but it did. I opened the car door while we were moving and unbuckled my seat belt.

Caleb exclaimed a string of profanities and pulled over to the side of the road. He continually asked me what was wrong as I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Caleb rolled down the car window, asking me to get into the car, as I walked away.

People needed to learn to leave me the fuck alone. If Caleb tried to get out of his car, I would go ninja on his ass.

I walked and turned onto a busy street. Caleb tried to drive next to me, still attempting to get me into the car, but when we got to the busy street there were too many cars for Caleb to keep track of me. He sped ahead of me into the night.

My apartment was four blocks away when a middle age women crossed my path. There was nothing significant about her. At least, until she abruptly stopped walking and I rammed into her.

Before I could get angry, I noticed the appraising look she gave me. Her eyes lingered on my injured leg and eventually looked at my face. The way she seemed to analyze me was a little too intimate for a stranger.

This lady was either crazy or… I had no other answer. She was bat-shit crazy.

"You're Natalie Prior's daughter," she said as if this encounter was completely natural. "Your leg appears to be doing well. That's great."

She said it in a way that made it sound not so great.

The lady kept talking. "You look so upset. It's either because you're not a happy drunk or you've had a bad day. Since you are your mother's daughter, I'll assume it was a bad day. Natalie was, without fail, a slap happy drinker. I'll assume this means your career must be in a lot of trouble right now," she grinned. "Tell my son to keep up the good work, will you?"

Faster than humanly possible, I wrote: _Do I know you?_

"Not personally," the stranger shrugged. "I'm sorry this is a meet and dash, but I've got to go. Tell your mom hello for me."

As I scribbled down my next question, she began to quickly walk away. I tried to follow, but her pace was too fast and my leg burned.

I sat down on a bench as she disappeared around the corner.

This city has some weirdoes. Maybe my mom and dad were right and I should live in the suburbs.

Never mind. I never want to live in the suburbs.

A car rolled up. I groaned. I already had my fill of crazy strangers for the day.

For the first time in my life, I was pleasantly surprised to see Caleb.

"Get in, Tris," he sighed. "I won't say another word, just get in the car. I'll even let you drive."

I was glad to know that my brother understood me so well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"You are never driving my car again," Caleb groaned as I parked in front of my apartment building. "How do you even have a driver's license?"

_I don't have a license, _I wrote. _I left home before I could get one, remember?_

"WHAT? And you drove my car? I'm sorry, car. I would have never done that to you if I knew. Tris, you need to get your license. What kind of grown women doesn't have one?"

_I've never needed a car in the city._

Instead of answering, Caleb shook his head, said a quick goodbye, and pulled away.

Happily alone, I went inside.

When I reached my apartment, my idea of being happily alone evaporated.

"Hey," Four said as he lounged on my sofa.

***I do not think this is really what ballet dancers think of modern. For the sake of the story we will pretend they all do, but all dancers (By 'all' I mean most. I'm sure there are some ignorant people out there) know that all types of dance are hard.**

**Thanks to ValeriaCarolina, and if your find me, Guest, and HeavenlyAngelicGD for reviewing the last chapter. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Top 10 Most Important Things I've Learned in Ballet Class**

**Girls can fly. **

**You gotta have the attitude. **

**You can't fall off the floor (easily). **

**Keep your toe nails short. **

**Barres are not invincible. **

**They tell you to spot for a reason. **

**It's not sweat, it's glow. **

**Wet floors are slippery. **

**There is (usually) no such thing as a stupid question. **

**-This is right, -This is left. **

**All the ills of mankind, all the tragic misfortunes that fill the history books, all the political blunders, all the failures of the great leaders, have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing. -Moliere**

I was so tired that I couldn't bring myself to exhibit my normal violent tendencies. Instead, I walked over to the couch and lightly hit Four's shoulder before collapsing next to him.

"I thought you'd be angry that I broke into your apartment," he said.

Lethargically, I wrote: _I am angry, believe me. In my head, I'm plotting all of the ways I want to kill you. The best option seems like slowly tearing your limbs apart._

"For some reason, I'm not very scared," Four smiled.

_What do you want? _I sighed and leaned back into my couch. The broken spring, ugly piece of crap had never felt more inviting.

Four answered automatically, "To know why you were so upset."

_It's not like you care about how I feel._

"That's a matter of opinion. I care about how you feel when it involves me. Our lives will be a lot easier if we could get along."

_You're a self centered asshole. I won't get along with you just because you want to take an easy way out of 'unnatural' modern dance._

"Is that why you're mad?" Four leaned forwards, "Because I called modern unnatural?"

I glared at him.

"No? Is it something Peter said? You know, the sooner you tell me the sooner I leave and you can go to sleep."

That made a lot of sense, which was surprising because it was coming from the Asshole.

Reluctantly, I wrote: _You and Peter said modern was a step down from ballet. That's the most insulting thing I have ever heard. I dreamed about being a modern dancer ever since I was a little girl. To you, does that mean I spent my entire life trying to be something considered second rate? _

I heard that people were more likely to confess their feelings using written words. It had to be true because I never would have said that out loud.

What was I doing?

"No, god no, I had no idea that…" Four clenched his jaw. "I grew up with parents who dedicated their lives to ballet. When my dad reached his early thirties and I was about four, he quit ballet, left my mom and I, and joined a modern company. I asked my mom why and she told me that my dad couldn't handle the stress of being a ballet dancer, but he couldn't bear to give up dancing completely, so he switched to an easier type. From there, my idea of modern dancing morphed into a bunch of people who couldn't make it as ballerinas. A lot of my fellow company members held the same belief, so no one has ever told me I was wrong. It never occurred to me that people love modern as much as I love ballet."

We sat in silence.

"I'll leave now," Four announced and scurried out of my apartment.

Right before he closed the door, Four paused. He turned to me, his eyes radiated an intense apology, but I couldn't tell for what. It wasn't for breaking into my apartment; something more. Something unforgivable.

It surprised me so much I couldn't write Four a question before he turned and left.

Left alone with my thoughts, I knew I shouldn't have still been angry at Four, (the guy just told me some of his past, for Christ's sake!), but I couldn't help it.

My couch smelled like him now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

The ambulance had just been crashed into. Next to me, Will groaned and then sagged, unconcious. Blood slowly stained his shirt. I took panicked breathes.

All of the paramedics had been knocked out. Shock numbed me, but I could see the blood staining my pants. My fingers wouldn't move.

A man walked into the ambulance. His face was blurry and, as he approached me, I found myself unable to breathe.

Despair washed over me.

"You better not waste this opportunity," the man sighed. "If we get arrested for this, I'm going to kill your mom."

Was he talking to me? No.

"Then you'll just be sentenced to life in jail," another male responded from outside of the car. "This is all ridiculous. It's not too late to turn around now. We could call another ambulance and tell them it was an accident. Nobody is dead. We'd get off easier than if we got caught."

"Your mom would know, and then what? You know what will happen if we don't succeed."

The man outside growled. "Just call an ambulance and let's dash. The sooner I can get away from you, the better."

"That's no way to talk to me. I'm not happy about this either. Don't you want to make sure our mission is complete?"

"You're a sick man. If I look at her now, I won't be able to face her later."

"You're too emotional," said the man in front of me. "Wait, her eyes are open," he gasped sharply. "I guess I'll have to give me a little blow to the head."

"Not too hard! If she gets brain damage…"

The man in the ambulance grabbed the silver tray that medics kept some of their tools on. "Sorry, Tris," he whispered as the tray collided with my head.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I woke up sweating.

Had that actually happened to me?

No. I would have remembered. I was just going a little crazy.

Correction, I was going fucking nuts.

I couldn't fall asleep again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.

_I'll teach you modern, _I told Four at rehearsal the next day.

**Thanks to ValeriaCarolina, laurel-madness, HeavenlyAngelicGD, and if you find me for reviewing (again) and StinaGinge for reviewing for the first time.**

**I love you all!**


	6. Chapter 6

**One tutu costs up to $2,000 to make**

**While I dance I cannot judge I cannot hate, I cannot separate myself from life. I can only be joyful and whole. That is why I dance."-Hans Bos**

_But I have two conditions. One, you can no longer randomly break into my apartment. I did not appreciate you breaking the lock on my window. _

As he started his warm up, Four said, "I thought you'd applaud me for my bravery. I climbed up four stories of fire escapes to get to your window."

_If by bravery you mean stupidity, then sure. And two, you have to tell me how you found out where I live._

"That's easy. Marcus told me."

_I thought that kind of thing was confidential._

"Marcus didn't know he told me. I sneaked into his files, but it's his fault for leaving the door unlocked."

_Keep telling yourself that, okay? _

"I will. So, when are we going to start our lessons?" Four asked. "I'm free tonight after rehearsal."

_No way. You'll be too exhausted to understand a word I say. You may be on drugs, but you're not invincible._

Four raised an eyebrow. "I'm not on drugs, Tris." There was a strange seriousness behind his casual demeanor.

Had I struck a nerve? Whatever it was, I didn't need to go there. After last night's dream, I was going crazy enough without having to deal with someone else's problems.

_We'll meet when there's no rehearsal on Sunday, 11 o'clock. _

"Whoa there, Tris, isn't 11 at night a little late to dance? Are you planning some sort of sexual assault on me?"

_11 in the morning, asshole._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

On Friday night, I got a text from my parents. They were flying in the next morning to see me despite my pleadings that I was okay. Caleb was going back to his house in Indiana on a Sunday morning flight and mom and dad would never pass up an opportunity to Caleb and I at the same time.

The only times we ever got together as a family were Christmas and Thanksgiving. The rest of the year I was either tied up with dance, Caleb was working, or mom and dad were overseas being foreign ambassadors with the Peace Corps.

Mom and dad spent around 200 days a year overseas, helping children in Africa or Asia or some obscene island with no technology. They racked up some pretty decent frequent flyer miles for doing what they loved. Their motto had always been 'Selfless before self.'

They also loved worrying about me. I know that it was their job, but I had been on my own since I was 16. That was when I had been accepted into a dance boarding school here in Chicago. Normally a dance school is ballet oriented, but Chicago School of Dance had a focus in modern. They didn't care that I had never done pointe* in my life, only that I was a half-good dancer that worked her butt off.

And work my butt off I did. I'm lucky there is anything left to call a butt.

I lacked a lot of dance fundamentals because my parents didn't push me in my dancing. They encouraged me, sure, but they never had much interest.

Needless to say, they were very surprised when I told them I wanted to attend the Chicago School of Dance. Money was an issue; being away from our home in Tennessee was an issue; getting accepted into the school was an issue. I had to attend an audition in Chicago and then go through an interview for a scholarship.

My mom and dad said I couldn't go. They assumed it was a waste of time and completely forbid me from continuing dance and later getting a dance major in college. Well, joke was on them. I didn't go to college; I joined my current dance company instead.

With my driving permit in hand, I stole Caleb's new car, drove to Chicago, and auditioned for the school. Mom and dad called my cell, demanded I come home (Of course I didn't), and basically went ballistic. I ignored them because I had problems of my own in Chicago.

First of all, I only had the money I had saved from my minimum wage summer job. This bought me a cheap hotel room each night, one meal a day, and Starbucks when I got desperate. I only had enough money left for gas to Chicago and back, so I walked everywhere else.

Second, I had to pass the audition. The audition consisted of a technique section, a combination **, and an across the floor section***. Thankfully, the technique section was done in normal ballet shoes instead of pointe.

Finally, my interview was a disaster. In my hurry to leave the house, I had forgotten to pack any nice clothes, so I arrived in ratty jean shorts and a graphic t-shirt. I attempted to go through the interview being formal and such, but it wasn't working for me.

I gave up on formalities altogether when my parents burst into the room. They told the interviewer, who happened to be the school's artistic director, that I had run away from home to audition. Then they turned on me and yelled until there were no more words to yell.

My reply was probably why I got the scholarship. I can still remember every word: "I don't know what to do without dance. If they say I'm not accepted into this school, I'll still show up on the first day. When I'm kicked out, I'll return for dance class. If you send the police to bring me home, I'll dance in jail until I pass out. There's nothing for me in life except dance."

The interviewer said that he had heard enough and I should go home. My parents grounded me until I was thirty and I thought the interview had been a bust.

But I still got my acceptance letter and scholarship later that week.

To avoid another scene, my parents said I could attend the school. There were a lot of rules like I had to go home every weekend, etc. but I didn't care.

Nobody could stop me from dancing.

Caleb moved on and got a nice job as a lawyer, which my parents were extremely happy about. They didn't even mind when he moved to Indiana because he was a mommy's boy and returned home any chance he got. He had a girlfriend named Susan. I had never met her, but Caleb thought the world of her.

However, Caleb was not very good at being human. He liked his facts and numbers. This led me to believe that Susan could have been a robot.

Rather quickly, Saturday rolled up and punched me in the face. I had started to get restless from the lack of dancing, so I walked around until my leg ached. Once, during rehearsal, I tried to stand and learn some of the moves. Christina and Four practically gave me a heart attack when they shoved me back into my chair.

Caleb was picking mom and dad up from the airport. I was ordered to sit at home like a good girl and wait for my parents to take me to lunch.

While waiting, I decided that I couldn't sit still any longer. Restless energy had uncomfortably bubbled inside of me until it exploded.

Just in time, I warned myself not to try anything too difficult. Stretching was the best way to go. Nobody ever died from stretched.

Sitting in a straddle position, I reached forwards until my stomach touched the ground and my arms could extend no farther. The familiar pain that hurt, but felt so good, filled my body and I sighed.

Holy fuck I was in heaven.

Pop!

My door opened.

"Tris, you're bleeding."

***For anyone that doesn't know, pointe is the ballet where they wear the shoes with the hard tips and stand on their toes and the shoes always look like they hurt. Guys normally don't do pointe, they wear normal ballet slippers even as professionals. You don't need pointe training to become a professional in an area of dance besides ballet. (I'm not old enough to dance professionally, but I, like Tris in the story, have never and will never do pointe. This just means that neither of us can ever be ballet dancers)**

****A combination is simply a short dance that dancers are expected to learn quickly. They're approximately a minute long and don't have much meaning except to show off or practice skills.**

***** across the floor is when dancers get in lines (My studio normally does two) and everyone goes two at a time doing dance moves from one side of the room to the other. Either combinations or technique skills that involve traveling are done during this time.**

**Thanks a ton to Tobias-is-mine-bitches, Clatoforeverinmyheart, WhitneyTrey, ValeriaCarolina, Guest, The Ferriswheel, ad HeavenlyAngelicGD for reviewing the last chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Did you know that what makes the tips of pointe shoes (where the dancer stands) so hard is actually glue? Sometimes it feels like wood or concrete, but pointe shoe makers actually harden the shoes with glue.**

**I don't want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance. ~George Balanchine**

Mom and dad stood behind Caleb, who had pointed out the blood slowly coloring my jeans. The three of them rushed to my side asking what had happened.

I shrugged, just as confused as the rest of them, as Caleb and dad slowly lifted me from the floor to my couch.

"Mom, dad, I think one of her stitches popped," Caleb said. "You were supposed to be taking it easy, Tris! I mean, what did you think you were doing? Actually, I'm sure you weren't thinking at all. "

Caleb's pretentious motherfucker mode was coming out. Normally I could slap it out of him, but my hands were too busy holding my stitches together.

"We have to get her to the emergency room," mom urgently motioned to the door.

My dad hoisted me onto his back, which was no easy feat. The man was getting rather old, but Caleb could barely lift half of me on his own so I took my chances with the old guy.

They rushed me to the car, talking too quickly and all at once. The jeans were no longer blue instead becoming a solid brownish red. I became dizzy and overwhelmed at the same time.

With the hospital in sight, I decided that fainting didn't sound half bad.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I was released a few hours later. The doctor had said that one stitch had simply come loose and it was easily fixable. I hadn't lost as much blood as we thought, but my family kept repeating that they were ready to donate blood to me at any moment.

Those overprotective bastards needed to calm down.

The pain had been minimal. Mostly, I was angry. Once my family had gotten over the worry, they chewed me out for trying to stretch. I knew they didn't understand how I felt about sitting around and that no amount of explaining could help, but their anger got my anger going. Once I started getting angry, it was hard to stop.

Mom bought me a skirt to wear since my jeans had turned into dish rags. I almost refused to wear it, but my parents hadn't given up on the idea of taking Caleb and I out for food and walking around in dish rags can invite unwanted attention from other dish rag wearers.

With my family in tow, I was put in a wheelchair and on my way to be checked out when I saw Christina.

Luckily, she spotted me too.

"Tris," She clicked her tongue and sighed as she approached, "what happened?"

_A stitch came loose, _I wrote on paper the hospital had provided.

Christina briefly greeted the rest of my family before turning back to me, "if I had known you needed a babysitter, I could have come over."

I waved off her comment because I was done with idle chatter for the day. _Why are you here?_

"To see Will."

Almost falling out of my chair, I quickly scribbled: _They're allowing Will to have visitors now? And no one told me?_

Christina chuckled, "Only family can visit." I raised an eyebrow and she continued, "I told the receptionist I was Will's adopted sister. That excuse probably shouldn't have worked, but today's receptionist was a guy. It helped that I slipped him my number."

I wanted to go with Christina to see Will so, so badly.

As if reading my mind, Caleb spoke up, "It was nice seeing you, Christina. Tris has to go now before she does something stupid."

Caleb rapidly wheeled me away, but I turned to Christina and mouthed 'help me.' She shook her head and kept walking.

Traitor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x..x.x.

"Today has been exciting so far, hasn't it?" Mom began as she slowly ripped apart a breadstick. "It's good to see that Tris is keeping her life interesting."

"Maybe a bit too interesting," dad looked directly at me.

Oh god fucking mother crap no. Not this again.

Dad continued, "You know that you can switch professions at any time. Your mother and I have kept your college fund going. There's enough money to send you practically anywhere."

I idly played with a fork. This conversation was all too familiar.

"When you were really little you said you wanted to be a doctor. I was ready to start buying those toy doctor kits for you, but then you got swept up in dance," Dad took a long pause. It was long enough to make someone think the conversation was over, but my father was a sneaky little fucker. "Your apartment seemed…quaint. I thought you wanted a bigger one?"

Awkward pause.

"Maybe you can't afford it," dad shrugged. "Don't worry, you should focus on getting that carpet of yours cleaned instead. Blood doesn't wash out easily."

I clenched the fork tighter. The cost of cleaning my carpet would leave me broke. Everyone here knew it.

Mom tried to keep some peace, "How about you tell us about this understudy of yours?"

"I wouldn't ask that, mom," Caleb smirked. "The last time I did, she practically killed herself by getting out of the car before it stopped."

I was tempted to throw my fork right into Caleb's eye.

"You should know better than to do something so reckless," dad reprimanded. "I've always feared that we let you go off on your own to early and it seems that I was right. You didn't stay home long enough to loose all of your rebellious teenage tendencies."

23. I was 23 years old and my dad thought I was still a teenager.

"How about you answer your mothers question about the understudy?" dad asked in his I'm-an-innocent-mother-fucker voice.

Unable to handle anymore, I pushed out my chair and left the restaurant.

Nobody should have been surprised, really. This happened every year.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Four stood in front of my apartment.

_Why aren't you at rehearsal? _I wrote.

"Marcus scheduled a last minute doctor's appointment," Four shrugged. "It's not like anyone should care why. I mean, it's a break, right?"

_Right, so why are you here and not enjoying your break?_ I put my hand on my hip.

"I need to learn modern as soon as possible," Four explained. "I figured, why not start today?"

_You're lucky I'm in the mood to dance._

"Aren't you always?"

I couldn't help it. I grinned.

_I'm glad to see that you're catching on._

**Thanks to Tobias-is-mine-bitches, ValeriaCarolina, Clatoforeverinmyheart, AllyisCanadian, and if you find me, and Anne (Guest) for reviewing the last chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**10 Jobs Surrounding Dance**

**Artistic Director- decides what shows to put on and casts the roles. **

**Ballet Master or Mistress- runs rehearsals and supervises the corps de ballet. **

**Dance Teacher- runs daily classes and gives individual coaching. **

**Physiotherapist- treats dancers' injuries. **

**Choreographer- creates the dance part of a ballet and helps decide on costumes and scenery. **

**Wardrobe Master or Mistress- looks after and takes care of the costumes. **

**Technical Director or Stage Manager- co-ordinates the lighting staff, orchestra, dancers, and stage crew. **

**Member of a Stage Crew- is responsible for the electrics, such as wiring and special effects, as well as the props. **

**Marketing Officers- comission posters, leaflets and programs advertsing ballets. **

**General Manager- arranges tours, salaries, and general business matters. **

**Movement never lies. It is a barometer telling the state of the soul's weather to all who can read it. ~Martha Graham**

_No. Do it gain._ I told Four. I had told him so many times that I gave up on suggestions for improvement and simply showed him the same words every time.

Without a single complaint, Four started the combination again. It was composed of many contractions and flexed feet. For a little bit of self satisfaction, I had him start on the floor.

He had gotten the basic idea down right away, but his execution of the moves was too upright and graceful. What I was trying to teach him was that, unlike ballet, modern consisted of a rounded back and transitions that hit certain, sometimes odd, accents.

There was one persistent problem.

Four's ballet training was flawless.

He finished the combination again with the same unsatisfying results.

I had to change my tactics.

After telling Four to wait a minute, I hobbled down to Marcus's office and grabbed as many pens and pencils as I could carry. When I returned, I told Four to start again.

Every time he made a mistake, I threw a pen at him.

Needless to say, I threw a lot of pens.

At the end of the combination, Four sighed and asked, "Isn't this considered abuse? What if I become mentally unstable while dancing because I'm too afraid of being hit by pens?"

_And what if this works? You'll be singing my praises and worshipping pens. Not just any kind of worshipping, either. Intense, sacrificial worshipping of pens. _

Four did the dance again.

It wasn't amazing.

But he had improved and that was all I could ask.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Upon his insistence, Four dropped me off at my apartment.

"Why are those people standing there?" Four said as he pulled up to my residence. He was talking about a group of three people blocking the apartment's door.

No fucking way.

It was mom, dad, and Caleb. Those mother fuckers didn't know when to stop. I gripped the car's armrest tightly to keep myself from lashing out.

"Do you need me to get rid of them?" Four asked.

I frantically shook my head. _No, that's my family._

"Wow, really? I've always wanted to meet your mom."

That was probably the weirdest statement I'd heard all night. _Why? I haven't told you anything about her._

Four looked like that was the most ridiculous question ever. "I don't need you to tell me about Natalie. Everyone I know knows about Natalie. She's an idol, but don't tell my mom that."

I was slightly freaked out that Four knew mom's name, and even more so when he said she was his idol. Did ballet people have some strange connection with the Peace Corps? There's no other way for Four to know mom. She was in the Peace Corps since college and has done nothing else since.

_You can come out and meet her._

Four's eyes lit up.

We got out of the car. Four practically ran to my mom, who greeted him with a polite smile.

"Tris, who is this young man?" my dad examined Four like a police officer would a terrorist.

"I'm Four," he held out his hand for mom, dad, and Caleb to shake. "Tris has been helping me with modern dancing."

Caleb smirked, "So this is Tris's understudy? Tell me, Four, is modern dancing a code word for sex? Tris has trouble getting laid." Caleb was unsurprised when I hit him with my notebook.

Ignoring Caleb, my dad grilled Four, "Is Four your real name? Why Four?"

"It's just a nickname, sir. The only person who uses my real name is my mother," Four said. He then turned to mom, "It's an honor to meet you. I've admired your work for a long time."

The temperature plummeted as dad and mom exchanged panicked looks. Maybe they secretly made porn tapes that Four watched?

"You could just sign up too, you know," Caleb sighed, not sensing the mood. "There are a lot of local places to do that same thing at if you aren't up for traveling."

"I want to travel and get all the opportunities Mrs. Prior did," Four grinned. "I'll go to Paris and Italy and London's Old Vic*."

"Maybe you should aim for a different job. Mom and dad go to Africa a lot. I guess if you want a tropical place you could take a couple trips to Mexico. I suggest bringing a gun if you decide to go," Caleb said.

Four and Caleb stared at each other. Honestly, I was extremely confused. Four had no reason to join the Peace Corps and, even if he really wanted to, he would know they didn't visit places like Paris. And Old Vic? It sounded like Four was talking about places that dance companies traveled.

After a long silence, Four spoke up, "Ballet companies don't travel to Africa."

"Ballet companies?" Caleb sputtered. "But you said you admired mom's work."

"Yes, her work in ballet."

***Old Vic, located in London, is considered one of the world's most famous theaters.**

**This chapter is rather extremely short because I wanted to update today.**

**Thanks to HeaevenlyAngelicGD, Tobias-is-mine-bitches, JustRachel, and if you find me for reviewing the last chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

**5 Attributes a Dancer Should Have**

**Strength **

**Joint Flexibility **

**Muscular Endurance **

**Cardiovascular Endurance **

**Coordination **

**Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire – George Bernard Shaw**

"Mom was never a ballerina," Caleb protested. "She joined the Peace Corps right out of college."

Four raised an eyebrow.

Both Caleb and I turned to mom. _ What the fuck, mom? _I wrote.

Mom took a deep breathe before explaining in a frustratingly calm voice, "I did join the Peace Corps right out of college, that's true, but I didn't attend college until I was 29. From age 18 I worked as a professional ballerina with the Joffery Ballet."

"She wasn't just a professional ballerina," Four said. He looked at my mom like she was the brightest star in the sky. "She was Queen of the Pas de Deux* and became a prima ballerina** at age 20. Technically I'm considered a prodigy, but compared to Natalie I'm second rate. Nobody could even touch her in terms of technique and skill. Then a horrible-"

"That's enough, Four. You can go home now," mom sighed. "My children and I need time to talk."

I gaped at my mom. She disapproved of my career choice even though she had done the same thing. She knew what it was like to feel the rush of dancing and she still tried to stop me. I forgave her when I ran away because I thought she didn't understand. My mom had spent all of these years deceiving me like I was some dumb ass delinquent who didn't deserve to know the truth.

Four started walking away, but I had a lot to ask him.

Unable to call out to him, I had to grab his should and yank him back to me. He seemed bewildered, but stayed silent.

_Mom, dad, and Caleb, _I printed, _I want you guys to go home. I don't want mom to try and 'talk' to me. You've had 23 years to tell me. Four will tell me everything he knows._

I grabbed Four's hand and dragged him into my apartment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Four told me everything he knew without any prompting. "Like your mom said, she quit dancing at 29. In terms of retirement, she still had a few years of dancing left on her, but on her way home from a rehearsal she got hit by a car. She couldn't dance for a year and, so, she decided to quit and go to college. It was named one of the greatest losses in the ballet world."

_I can't believe her, _I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Tris, I thought you knew," Four said. "Is there anything else I could tell you?"

_I want to know your real name._

"I told your dad that only my mom calls me by it. My real name is irrelevant."

_You can tell me or I can steal your personal documents and find it myself. _The sudden urge to know Four's real name was more of a distraction than anything.

"How about a deal," Four grinned slyly. "After I survive my first and last modern performance, I'll tell it to you."

_I'd rather if you stopped being an ass and just told me now. _

"Deal or no deal?"

_I've always wanted to go on that reality show. _

"Deal."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Two weeks went by without much excitement. Caleb, mom, and dad went home. I didn't go to see them, though. I couldn't trust myself to not start stabbing someone with a pen.

Four and I kept up rehearsals. We started doing those rehearsals right after company rehearsals while the choreography was still fresh. He could almost scrape by in a modern dance, but his progress was Chinese water torture slow. It turned out that throwing pens at him was an effective method of both teaching Four and taking out my anger.

We were approximately a week away from the performance when I got a call from Christina.

"Tris? Are you there? Hello?" She said. People always seemed to forget that I couldn't talk. I didn't have that problem. "Oh, right. You're… yes… so, I have good news. Will is no longer in critical condition. Friends are allowed to visit him now. Want me to pick you up and we can go see him? Uh, tap the phone once for yes and twice for no."

I taped the phone once.

"Okay, I'll see you in ten minutes." The phone clicked off.

After waiting all of this time to see Will, I was surprised that I wasn't more excited to go. Actually, I was slightly scared to see Will's battered and bruised body. The police hadn't gotten a single lead on who had done both the car crash and my shooting, so I couldn't think of any good news to tell Will.

I mean, they were terminating his spot on the company. I should be ready to handle an all out mental breakdown.

Will didn't have anything except the company, and it was too late in the season to audition for another one.

When I had first met Will, he had been on the company for two years. I was extremely jealous because the two of us were the same age. The stupid bastard dropped out of high school before his junior year, which made his parents disown him, and joined the company straight away.

Will had been working on getting his GED when I met him. He was the first member of the company I was really friends with and, because of his complicated fuck buddy/ childhood friend relationship with Christina, made me and Christina become friends, too.

Like me, Will's parents did not encourage his dancing. They outright hated it. Will payed for his own dance classes at the age of 12 and was forced to walk to and from the studio on his own. His parents never came to his recitals and, as far as I know, haven't talked to Will in five years.

Christina sent me a text telling me to get my ass downstairs.

As I hobbled to her, I worried about Will. Because Will lacked a complete high school education, he would never be able to get a nice, comfy office job that didn't work him like a dog. Going to college isn't an option, either. Dancing and poorness practically go hand in hand.

I reached Christina's car where she waved at me excitedly.

"So, Tris," She greeted as she began driving, "How are those lessons with Four going?"

_How do you know about those? _As Christina read my writing, the car began to swerve. I reached over to the wheel and set her back into a straight line.

"Everyone sees you guys stay after rehearsals. You're either fucking in the studio or teaching him," Christina grinned. "You could be doing a side job as a stripper, but it's too early in our careers and probably hard to dance on a pole with a bad leg."

We're silent for a few minutes until Christina pulls up to the hospital.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

In Will's hospital room, it was silent except for the beep of machines. Will sleeping. I could barely look at him. His face was practically a purple blob and more wires ran in and out of him than a machine.

"Hey, Will," Christina said softly. "I've missed you. Tris is here, but she's mute so she won't be able to talk to you. Keep sleeping, okay? We just wanted to make sure you're still breathing and stuff. Leaving us isn't an option."

My eyes were transfixed on Will's heart monitor.

"Tris hasn't been causing trouble… much. Her stitches come out the day before the first performance. All of the dance formations had to be changed because we lost two company members and only replaced one," Christina rambled. "I'm sure that if you get better soon we can work something out with Marcus and get your spot back on the company."

Will's heart monitor beeped. The once jagged lines were slowly being flat. In every movie I'd seen in a hospital, that wasn't a good sign. I hit Christina's shoulder to get her attention and pointed out the monitor.

"Shit," she shrieked and dashed into the hallway. "Nurse! Doctor! Somebody! There's an emergency!"

A nurse came into the room, calmly trying to tell Christina that she should lower her tone until she saw the monitor. Into a walky-talky the nurse said, "We've got an emergency in room 112. The patient is flat lining."

The nurse talked some more, but I could no longer listen. My eyes wouldn't leave the heart monitor. It beeped urgently.

It took an eternity for doctors and nurses to flood the room. Chaos ensued, and I couldn't keep track of it all. I didn't know where Christina was. I was stuck in a sea of white coats and walls.

"Heart…clear….stopped…" The same words kept floating around the room and pounding my ears. My head spun with all of the action. A nurse approached me and said I should leave. When I tried to move, I stumbled.

I stared at Will instead of the monitor. Sometimes machines lied, right? The heart monitor could have broken and given a false alarm. I watched Will's chest for movement.

Suddenly, all of the movement in the room stopped and one voice echoed around the room.

"Patient's time of death was 12:47 p.m."

***In ****ballet****, a ****pas de deux**** is a type of dance for two people, typically a man and a woman****[1]**** It usually consists of an ****entrée****, ****adagio****, two ****variations**** (one for each dancer), and a ****coda****. (That's a lot of words you may not know, so to totally understand this you may need to use wikipedia.)**

**** (Taken from Yahoo answers. This the best description I've ever found about a prima ballerina because the writer's daughter is one. ) ****A "Prima Ballerina" or just the term Ballerina means top ballet dancer in the company. There can only be one Ballerina. The rest are all ballet dancers. To become a prima ballerina you must have a ballet body. They will not hire you and in most cases you will not be training at the top ballet academies if you don't have it. Only 2% of the population has this body. Your feet must have high arches with a top bump, you must have 90 degree turnout from each of the hip rotators (not at the knees or ankles) giving you a 180 degree foot stance. Strong stretchy Achilles tendons, Long hyper-extended legs, short torso, long neck and small round head. You must have tons of facility, musicality and be able to pick up steps quickly. You must also not exceed height and weight restrictions. Usually 5'2" to 5'7" with exceptions on either side. For weight, at 5' you should weigh 85 lbs and add 5 lbs. for every inch taller than that. Most companies do like them a bit smaller than that though. If all that is in place, you must begin study at a top ballet academy at 7 to no later then 11 years of age (for a girl). There have been the rare exceptions of some as old as 13, but that is very rare. You must give up your childhood in favor of spending days in a classroom dancing. Many are home schooled or go to special schools at their academies. By 14 you would be dancing 20-30 hours a week. At 17 you would apprentice with a company and then after a year join the corps de ballet if asked. Then if you are really good, you become a Soloist, then a Principal and if you are extra special you may reach the level that a select few reach of Ballerina**

**Thanks to .Alligent, Clatoforeverinnmyheart, and laurel-maddness for reviewing the last chapter.**

**SUPER SORRY to ValeriaCarolina, who reviewed chapter 7 and I forgot to thank.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Breakdancing** **was first created as a "less lethal" form of fighting between warring African-American street gangs in 1970s Bronx area of New York City. This form of dancing re-emerged into worldwide popularity during 1990s.**

**Dancing in all its forms cannot be excluded from the curriculum of all noble education; dancing with the feet, with ideas, with words, and, need I add that one must also be able to dance with the pen? ~Friedrich Nietzsche**

Will was dead.

With only six days until the performance, Marcus didn't let the company have a day off to mourn his death. I attended rehearsal no matter how much I wanted to stay home and cry until my eyes became shriveled. During breaks, we honored Will the only way we knew how: praising him as a dancer.

At the company's urging, Marcus decided to dedicate our first performance to Will. It was a high honor that Will was completely worthy of. Because Will wasn't considered famous in the dance world, Marcus wanted Christina to give a speech about his journey as a dancer to show just who Will really was. These sorts of speeches normally got one of two reactions from the audience: apathy or sympathy.

Marcus wanted this because, if you could earn the audience's sympathy, they would remember that feeling for the rest of their lives. That was all a dancer should want to do.

However, for us in the company, the speech was much more. We couldn't attend Will's funeral because his parents had asked for their son's body to be shipped back to his home town in Alaska. None of us could afford a trip to Alaska, except maybe Four, so the speech was our funeral for Will.

After a dress rehearsal, two days before our first performance, Marcus treated the entire company to dinner. It was a yearly thing, but I could never figure out how he payed for it. A choreographer's salary wasn't much better than a dancer's.

The restaurant wasn't high-class or anything, but everyone in the company always came because it was a free meal. We wore some of our nicer clothes that didn't have holes in them and bothered to look twice in the mirror before leaving the house.

As we took our seats around a long table, Four and Christina took seats next to me. Over the last few days, Christina had latched onto me. We shared the experience of being at Will's death and, for some reason, Christina thought we were instantly a lot closer.

Well, bad news for her, then. I wanted to see her even less because she reminded me of Will.

Everyone had just ordered dinner when Peter walked in. He led a pack of other people who had to be dancers as well because, let's be honest, dancers don't do well at meeting non-dancers.

"Hey, Four," Peter strutted towards our table. A few males followed him while the rest of the dancers sat at a nearby table. "I see you're out and about with the floor-rolling people."

The entire company exchanged looks. Lynn, a dancer with a story similar to Will's except with a start in hip-hop dancing, looked ready to stand up and start yelling. Lynn was always easily provoked, we all knew it, and so the people sitting next to her gently put their hands on her shoulders in warning. If Lynn tried to start a fight, she would be restrained.

But, damn, I wanted Lynn to knock the crap out of Peter.

"Why is the entire company here?" Four asked him warily.

"Evelyn sent us a large sum of money and told us to treat ourselves to dinner at this restaurant," Peter shrugged. "How were we supposed to know you guys would be here tonight?"

"Evelyn did?" Marcus sighed. Him and Four exchanged looks.

"Who's Evelyn?" Lynn growled. "Some sort of pompous ballet bastard?"

Peter tutted, "Watch what you say. Evelyn is the biggest benefactor of dance companies throughout the world. She was also quite famous during her prime."

"Well, I've never heard of her," Lynn rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Peter smirked. "You're probably too busy trying to tell the difference between third and fifth position* during ballet barre."

"Shut up you arrogant butt wipe," Lynn tried to stand up, but the people next to her did their job and kept her seated.

Peter, knowing he had won this little fight, smirked and walked away.

"Four, I need to talk with you," Marcus said right away. Four nodded and the two went around the corner to talk near the bathrooms.

The entire company stared at me.

_What the fuck are you guys doing?_

Lynn spoke up, "Waiting for you to go eavesdrop on their conversation."

_Me?_

"Four and Marcus can't afford to get mad at you. You're teaching Four modern and no one else is willing to. At the moment, you're irreplaceable."

I would have put up more of a fight if I wasn't so damn curious. Dropping my napkin with a sigh, I stood around the corner from Marcus and Four.

As I listened to their conversation, I pretended to check my phone for reception.

"Why would she send them?" Marcus snarled. "We're doing everything she wants."

Four slowly exhaled and calmly said, "Knowing her, it's both a display of power and a reminder to stay on task. Don't get so worked up about it. Someone will hear you."

"I don't want her fucking with my company, Four."

"This isn't any better for me," Four yelled. Quieter, he said, "I have more at stake here than you. I have two days to make sure I nail this performance."

"It'll take longer than just this performance," Marcus whispered harshly. "You're improving, but not enough."

"That's not good enough. I told Tris she would have her spot on the company back after the first performance."

"Well, things change. You lied."

"I didn't know modern would take this long to learn."

Marcus tapped his fingers anxiously. "Tris can have her company spot back, no problem. With Will dead, there's room for another member. You need her to keep teaching you. If she left, you'd never leave the company."

"I still lied to her."

"What's more important to you, ballet or the truth?"

"Excuse me, Miss," a waiter approached me. "Our restaurant's cell phone reception is typically four bars. If your phone is having that much trouble, I advise getting it fixed or changing companies."

I froze.

Four and Marcus slowly glanced around the corner. Stricken looks were on both of their faces.

Anger quickly overtook my surprise. "I guess you're more than just an asshole," I yelled at Four. "You're a lying asshole!"

And I stormed out of the restaurant.

In my anger, I hadn't even realized that I had spoken for the first time in weeks.

***Third and fifth positions are different placements for the feet during ballet. Overall, there are five basic positions. Third position when ****the heel of one foot rests against the instep of the other; both are firmly turned out, and the weight is divided between them. Fifth is when the feet are turned out and pressed closely together, the heel of the right foot against the toe of the left. I suggest finding pictures to fully understand. The positions are the most similar of the five.**

**Thanks to ValeriaCarolina and AllyisCanadian for reviewing the last chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Dance marathon competition** **started as early as 14th century England. They reached height of their popularity in the bloom of US entertainment expansion during 1930s depression era. Some competitions were performed in the 22 day long marathons.**

**Dancing is the loftiest, the most moving, the most beautiful of the arts, because it is not mere translation or abstraction from life; it is life itself. ~Havelock Ellis**

Four found me an hour later at the dance studio.

"At least you can talk again," Four greeted. When I simply turned away from him, he continued. "I checked your apartment first. When you weren't there, I had to ask Christina where you would be. She said the dance studio, of course, as if I should have known that."

I crossed my arms.

"How about you say something, Tris? The only time I've heard your voice is to yell at me."

In all honesty, I would have loved to go ballistic. However, when I had first gotten to the studio, I tried to scream in anger. No sound had come out. I had kept trying to talk and say something, anything, but I couldn't. The ability to speak again was a one time deal and I wasted it on Four.

"Will you please just turn around and look at me," Four insisted. "I'll answer any questions you want."

Curiosity beat out my anger and I turned around. I immediately scribbled down my first question.

_Why did you lie to me?_

"Why are you still writing things down? You can talk now," Four said. I cocked my hip and waited impatiently for an answer. This was _my _time for questions. Four finally answered, "I lied because I thought I would have modern down by now. I'm sure you heard that part of the conversation. I mean, Marcus said you get your spot on the company anyways, so it doesn't affect you too much."

That didn't change the fact that he was still a lying asshole. I wanted to beat his ass into next week, but that might have broken some of my stitches.

_But why do you have to stay. What is keeping you at the company?_

"I… I can't tell you that," Four clenched his jaw and looked at the floor.

I started walking towards the door.

"Wait, Tris." Four grabbed my shoulder_._ I stiffened as he spoke again, "I really can't tell you. Ask anything else and I'll answer, just not that."

_Who is that 'she' you and Marcus kept talking about?_

"Evelyn."

_Evelyn? The one that sent Peter and his ballet lackeys to the restaurant? Why does she care about you and Marcus?_

"She…Well, you see… Evelyn is my mom," Four tensed up.

_Why is your mom sending Peter to keep an eye on you?_

"She's trying to make sure that I'm excelling at modern."

That bastard wasn't telling me something.

_What's your real name?_

"Tobias," He answered without missing a beat. That wasn't exactly what I wanted to know though.

_What's your FULL name?_

His eyes darted around the room and looked at anywhere but me when he said "Tobias Eaton."

In shock, I dropped my paper and pen. Marcus was his father? I'd never hated Four more than I did then. It was a disgusting, to me, for Four to use a family connection to join the company. Everyone else had to work so hard for it and Four just so happened to have a father that was well connected.

"It's not what you think!" Four exclaimed. I couldn't bring myself to call him Tobias. "I can't explain the rest of it to you, but I need you to trust me."

There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

I grabbed my notebook off the floor and threw it at Four. While he was surprised, I tried to run away, but he grabbed my arm before I could.

Struggling, I was in no mood to listen to Four try to explain.

"Tris, don't stay mad at me. I need your help. This is really important. If I go too much longer without ballet, I'll go crazy. I need to understand modern or else I'll never be able to leave."

It's not like I cared about Four.

I kept struggling.

In one swift movement, Four wrapped his arms around my waist and used brute strength to lift me off the floor. I dangled there, kicking my feet uselessly.

"I can keep this up forever," Four sighed. "Just calm down and listen to reason, please, Tris. If you're so mad at me, wouldn't it be better to just help me out now and get rid of me faster?"

Damn it. Damn him. I gave up on struggling. My leg had started to hurt, anyways.

Warily, Four set me back on the floor.

"I'm glad that we've gotten this sorted out." Four nodded and smiled peacefully. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

I flipped him the bird as he left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It was the night of the performance. The entire company knew that I had heard something between Marcus and Four that I wasn't supposed to, but they don't know what it was. There was no way I would say (In my case, write) anything.

I interacted with Four as little as possible. The rest of the company always found a way to stay close to me and chat. Most of the talk was about the performance, which brought a bittersweet taste to me tongue. I remembered the adrenaline that slowly replaced your blood during the night of a performance. It made a dancer feel both unstoppable and vulnerable. I wouldn't get to feel that for a while.

There were two hours before the performance. Marcus had just said we were finished with the final run. The company immediately dispersed; someone people went to put on makeup or stretch, but most of them started eating.

Lynn, who sat in a circle with the other dancer's as she ate, called me over.

"Did you hear?" She asked as I joined the circle. "A big dance benefactor is coming to watch tonight's show. Maybe we can get a donation and use it as a holiday bonus."

Everyone laughed. Nobody ever got bonuses.

I knew who the dance benefactor was. It was Evelyn, coming to watch her son. From the way Four and Marcus talked about her, she didn't sound like she would be donating to our company.

Tori, a veteran company member, spoke up. "It's too bad that tonight is just a showcase though."

While all of us made big deal about our first performance of the season, the truth was that tonight was probably the smallest performance of the entire season. We were showcasing four dances, approximately seven to ten minutes long a piece, alongside three other invited dance companies who each brought two dances. The event, while hosted by us, was a preview of the season for all four dance companies. By most standards, tonight was considered a warm-up performance.

Eventually, everyone ran out of food and separated to get ready. I was sitting alone in the hallway when Four came up to me.

"Peter and company are here tonight," Four said as he took a seat next to me. I refused to meet his eyes. "They won't be on their best behavior, there's no doubt about it. I just wanted you to know that I have nothing to do with them. We just danced together, that was it. Peter doesn't like me, so he'll do anything to mess this up."

_Just don't mess this up. _I wrote. _I don't care what Peter does. If you ruin this, I'll_

Four pulled the pen out of me hand.

"I wish you'd stop threatening me," he sighed. "All of that anger can't be good for you."

**Thanks to DivergentTributeTW, .Allegiant, and if you find me, Dance ten (Guest), ValeriaCarolina, laurel-madness, and Goalalphaeticalorder for reviewing the last chapter. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Many** **historical waves of dances** **were perceived as the "destructors" of the old way of dance. Examples of that can be found in the 1920's Charleston and the era of Rock music.**

**Movement never lies. It is a barometer telling the state of the soul's weather to all who can read it. ~Martha Graham (For anyone that doesn't know, Martha Graham is considered one of the founders of modern dance.)**

The performance began with Christina's speech about Will. From my seat backstage, I listened to her recite his achievements and adventures. I didn't cry, the time for that had passed, but it struck a nerve. When her speech finished, the audience burst into applause. As the dancers took their places on stage, I could see that the speech had affected them in a positive way.

As the music started, I found myself watching Four. It wasn't because he was good at modern. It was the kind of watching a person does when they find the one person doing something different than everyone else. He wasn't bad, but I worried that the other dancers on stage would be able to tell that people would watch Four instead of them. That could really hurt an ego.

The show was flawless until my company finished their final dance. The audience applauded as usual, but, right at the moment when the applause are just about to die off, a voice yelled out.

"Get off the floor and learn to dance standing up!"

I didn't have to peek around the corner to know that Peter was the one who yelled.

The dancers left the stage as the lights dimmed. They scowled despite their successful performance. While waiting for the music to start again, which would signal their entrance for the final bows, they whispered about Peter.

"He's just an asshat," Lynn murmured. "The idiot was probably dropped on his head as a kid."

Christina whispered back, "Multiple times. I mean, there's no other way he could be so disrespectful."

The talking stopped and the music came back on. They raced onto the stage for their final bow. Smiles took the place of their scowls the moment the audience started clapping for them.

Peter then decided that being an asshat wasn't enough.

"Boo!" At first, it was only Peter yelling. A single voice among the roaring applause was insignificant, but the rest of his ballet pals decided to join in.

"Boo! That's not dancing. Learn to point your feet!" An entire row of the theater screamed. The smiles on the dancer's faces fell as the applause stopped and all that was left was the single row of asshats yelling rude comments. "Find another profession! This is so bad my eyes burn."

I noticed Christina turned her back to the audience. Her face was turning a light red as tears dripped down her cheeks.

A few rude spectators were not normally enough to make a dancer cry, but those rude spectators were insulting the dances that we had dedicated to Will. It hit the heart knowing that our last gift to him was ruined.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

An hour after the performance, everyone had wiped off their make up and the adrenaline had died off. People were ready to go home and put this entire night behind them.

"Peter isn't done yet, Tris," Four approached me as I was about to leave. "I don't know what he wants to do, but he's out for blood."

_He won't do anything tonight. _I sighed. _Making a girl cry had to be a big blow to his conscious, right?_

Four shook his head, "You don't understand. Can I take you home just to be safe? Even if you think it's ridiculous, can you handle it so that I don't go crazy worrying about what Peter might do?"

I shrugged, which Four took as a yes. I still wasn't in the mood to hang out with him, but I also didn't want to argue.

As we exited the building, I saw the strange lady that had approached me on the night I thought it was a good idea to get out of Caleb's car and walk home.

"Hello Four, Tris," the lady immediately walked up to us and greeted.

I simply nodded back, but Four spoke up. "What are you still doing here, Evelyn?"

I should have known Four was related to a whacko.

"I'm just congratulating my son on his performance," Evelyn smiled. "It was highly mediocre, by the way. Nowhere near the level you should be at." Her smile faded.

Four said, "These things take time."

Evelyn tsked. "I didn't think you would have so much trouble. My son, the prodigy, needs to take his _time_ learning modern? Unacceptable."

There was no way I even dared to breathe. Evelyn stared Four down and, surprisingly, Four bowed his head. So much for his manly pride.

"I'll do it, okay? Please, just don't do anything drastic. Don't ask Peter to do any crazy things or Marcus and I too repeat what happened before," Four said. He was unable to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

Ignoring him, Evelyn turned to me. "When do your stitches come out?"

_Tomorrow, _I wrote reluctantly. Irritated anger stirred inside of me. All I wanted were answers from Four about what was going on.

"So you'll be back on the dance floor?" Evelyn asked, but looked at Four as she spoke.

I nodded.

"Good, good," she said insincerely.

The smell of smoke reached my nose. Four and I looked up at the same time to see a section of the building on fire.

Gaping, I realized it was my apartment.

I wiped out my phone and called the fire department. When someone answered, I handed the phone to Four so he could talk.

This was fucking horrible.

My eyes wouldn't leave the bright fire. It filtered out of my window and disappeared into the night air. I couldn't see how bad it was, but I heard the fire alarms in the building go off. People surged out of the building all at once, most of them calling the fire department, too.

Four handed me my phone back. "Were did Evelyn go?"

Shrugging, I only glanced around for a second and gave up when I didn't see her. Evelyn was no longer a concern. Large dollar signs and piles of debt added up before my eyes. There was no way I could pay to replace the things in my apartment.

Damn it. I might have to live in a fucking box.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I stayed up all night. The fire department quickly put out the fire, reported that no one was hurt, and said the fire had started in my kitchen. Apparently, I had left my oven on.

Four, however, believed otherwise. He was positive Peter had set the fire. The entire night, Four stayed by my side in complete silence. For a little while, I worried that he went mute, too. I nagged him to no end about going home. I smacked him; I shoved my notebook in his face; I unintentionally fell asleep for five minutes on his legs and woke up from a dream about attacking debt collectors. It turned out that I had been attacking Four.

At the crack of dawn, I was allowed to see the inside of my apartment. Except for the smell of smoke, my bedroom was relatively untouched along with my bathroom. My kitchen and living room were another story.

The kitchen was covered in a wave of black soot. Most of the appliances were melted in different areas and I was told that it would all have to be replaced. Any food I had was unusable and the walls were peeling horribly.

The living room's damage was less extreme, but still expensive because it was connected to the kitchen. My couch was nothing more than a lumpy soot rock. Finally, I couldn't stand being in there any longer and went outside to sit on the building's front steps.

"It's almost time to go get your stitches out," Four said as he sat next to me.

Wearily, I wrote: _Don't you want to go home or something? You have rehearsal in a few hours._

"I don't think you should be left alone. Peter has proven that he'll go to extremes to hurt you," Four explained. I didn't bother to try and explain to Four, again, that the fire started in my oven. "Anyways, I might miss rehearsal today."

I bumped his shoulder. _You're not a good enough dancer to miss rehearsals if you don't have to. _

"After you get your stitches out, we'll have to stay extra late at the studio. You'll have to continue working on my modern while I catch you up on missed choreography. It'll be hard on our bodies. Taking today off will be a blessing for my body."

_What are you going to do on your day off?_

"Take you to the hospital so you can get out your stitches."

_I never said you were taking me. _Four gave me a withering look, so I added _but I guess it's better than walking. _

**Thanks to Goalphabeticalorder, DivergentTributeTW, dauntlesspanem, Clatoforeverinmyheart, Jazz N Ballet 17 (Guest), Lindsay (Guest), teenwolfster, AwesomeTooAwesome, and ValeriaCarolina for reviewing the last chapter. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Modern ballet dancers have only been able to dance en point since the development of ballet shoe technology. Highland dancers also dance en point (mainly the men) and they do it in a soft shoe!  
**

**Dancing is wonderful training for girls, it's the first way you learn to guess what a man is going to do before he does it. ~Christopher Morley, **_**Kitty Foyle**_

My stitches came out, the doctor let me leave, and Four got an angry complaint call from Marcus that involved a lot of yelling and only a little swearing.

Before I left the doctor's, he suggested seeing a therapist since I still couldn't speak. However, because I couldn't speak, I was able to restrain myself from cussing out the doctor when he suggested it. I did not belong in the same place as people on their way to the loony bin and I sure as hell was not going to pay a person to suggest otherwise.

Four returned me to my apartment and only left me alone after I unleashed a hurricane of pens upon him.

I hadn't realized that it was a bad idea for me to be alone until I started staring at my burnt kitchen. A wave of despair came over me. It was the kind of despair that made me wonder if my parents were right. If I should have gone to college and gotten a job that was boring as hell, but at least I wouldn't have been worried about money.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I went to rehearsal the next day, and Marcus acted like I had never been on leave. We rehearsed dances that I never learned, so I had to sit aside a lot while the company progressed. Every spare second was spent trying to stretch out my body, which was tight as a bitch.

After rehearsal, Four and I began our training sessions. We started off with him teaching me the missed choreography. My brain was fried from a long day back, so we had to repeat each movement phrase dozens of times till it was stuck in my muscle memory.

It was a bitch.

Then, it was my turn to teach Four. He was exhausted and his movements dragged because of it.

_You're still not doing it, _I scribbled. _If you do it amazing one time, we can leave. _

"That's a lie*," Four reprimanded, "and you know it."

_It was worth a shot. What's wrong with you today?_

Instead of answering me, he said, "How about you dance with me?"

I shook my head. _Where the hell did that question come from? _

"Just once, Tris. Maybe you'll be able to figure out why I can't do modern correctly."

_You're not making any sense. Have your asshole qualities begun to affect the way you think?_

"Listen for one second instead of bantering with me," Four sighed. Tiredly, he explained, "I was taught that the way a person dances says a lot about them. If you dance with me, maybe you'll be able to tell what makes our dancing so different even though I'm doing the same movement."

_But we dance together every day in the company. Are you too self absorbed to notice me dancing at the same time?_

"I guess if you really don't want to, we can keep making minimum progress forever," Four shrugged.

_Damn you for making some sense. Damn you to hell._

Grudgingly, I stood up and choose a song on the ipod player.

"We don't have any choreography for this song," Four raised his eyebrow.

I wrote: _We're doing improv _and threw my notebook to the side.

Taking an exhausted breath, Four said, "I don't do improve."

He didn't get a fucking choice. I stood next to him in the center of the floor. After waiting an eight count, I began dancing.

The bends and twists of my body followed the music's highs and lows. It compelled me to do things. It forced me to turn and jump and kick, but I didn't resist. Why would I want to? It was freeing to not think about it too much.

Without me noticing, Four had started dancing, too.

As the music reached a slower point, I met eyes with Four and there was a small understanding.

We launched into a partner section.

I felt different. It was different in a damn good way. There was no hesitation as I was lifted and spun. Our hands were locked together and I felt nothing but safety.

His arms circled my waist and I knew I was about to be lifted high. Very, very high. Without a second thought, I was in the air.

Images flashed across my mind.

_A man walked into the ambulance._

_ "We could call another ambulance and tell them it was an accident."_

_ "Don't you want to make sure our mission is complete?"_

_ "If I look at her now, I won't be able to face her later."_

_ The tray collided with my head._

Had that dream been a memory?

My connection with Four died. I was set on the ground safely, but Four could tell that something was wrong. I sank to my knees as the music ended.

Four rushed to my side. "What happened? Did I lift you wrong?"

Shaking my head, I stared at the floor. That dream wouldn't leave me alone. The tray seemed to collide with my head over and over again. The blurry faces had become clear.

But my dream was just a dream. It had to be.

Especially because one of the voices belonged to Four.

God damn it, why did I choose now to go fucking mental?

"It's time to end things for tonight," Four panted. "You need to get back into the swing of things. I'll see you tomorrow."

We departed without a word, but there was an unspoken understanding.

We had just done the best dance of our lives.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Many days passed by, and I was having a shitty time. My brain couldn't keep up with all of the rehearsals plus the missed choreography Four taught me. Also, nothing in my house had been replaced from the fire, so I bought cheap take-out every day and ate it in my living room.

The dream of my accident had started to get clearer. I was positive I heard Four's voice outside of the ambulance and saw Marcus's face as I was hit with the tray. However, I wasn't going to say anything about it. I had gone crazy, not stupid.

It was approximately day 10 of 'Tris is having a shitty time' when Marcus approached me. We were two weeks away from our next performances. These performances would require us to travel around the country for a month and perform at various venues.

"Tris, do you have a moment?" Marcus called out. Rehearsal had just ended, and Four and I would begin our separate practice in a few minutes. "You should take tomorrow off."

* "You only have to do it one more time" is a common thing said in dance class. The teacher says the dancer's will only perform the move one more time, but it always ends up being more than that. A lot of the dancers joke about it.

**Thanks to AwesomeTooAwesome, Goalpabeticalorder, Tobias is mine HA, Ilovedivergent (Guest), Tobias-is-mine-bitches, ValeriaCarolina, Hi (Guest), , and Clatoforeverinmyheart for reviewing the last chapter. **


	14. Chapter 14

**90% of ballet dancers have clicking hips.**

**Dancers are instruments, like a piano the choreographer plays. ~George Balanchine**

What the hell was Marcus talking about? He might be the fucking crazy one.

"Stop giving me that face," He sighed. "I know you're unhappy about this, but listen up. You came back after a long break and your mind can't handle so many things at once. I've noticed it affect your dancing. So, for the good of the company, you need to take tomorrow off and recuperate."

_I didn't go to college, I don't know large words like recuperate, _I wrote.

Marcus sighed. "Just go home and relax. Maybe watch some mindless television, or go out to dinner with your girlfriends. I don't really care how you relax, as long as you come back the next day in top form. You should also skip Four's rehearsal."

I glared at him. _Whatever, but I don't see how you can keep me coming from rehearsal if I want to._

"You don't want to," Marcus scratched his head. "Your mind may not realize it, but you want a break and I am here handing you one on a silver platter."

With a noncommittal shrug, I walked away and found Four.

_No separate rehearsal today, _I told him. _I've been given permission to go out with my girlfriends. _

"You're a lesbian?" Four asked.

I smacked him with my notebook. _No, asshole. And, even if that was what I meant, you didn't sound very shocked. Do I radiate some sort of lesbian aura?_

"Only a little."

He dodged the pen I threw and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

My day off was uneventful. All of my friends were dancers, so there was no one to call up and hang out with. In the midst of boredom, I discovered the show _Dance Moms_, which made me appreciate my mother a lot more. A little spot in my heart also warmed up to Marcus, who I thanked God was nothing like Abbey The-biggest-bitch-on-the-block- Lee Miller.

_Beep. Beep. Beep _

My phone was ringing. I picked it up and waited for the caller to start talking.

"Tris? Tris? It's Christina. I can't actually tell if you're listening or not, so I'll just talk. Today is the worst day you could've taken off. In the middle of rehearsal, Marcus got a call from the New Dawns Dance Company. Their owner, Jeanine Matthews, was going to stop by. We all knew this was really weird, I mean, the owner of another company shouldn't even be concerned with another."

Christina was talking really damn fast.

"Anyways, Jeanine arrived and sat in a corner the entire time. She kept talking to Marcus, but none of us had any idea what the fuck she was saying. When rehearsal ended, she said that she looked forwards to meeting us again and walked out. All of us were staring at Marcus, waiting for him to explain. The man took his damn time, too."

Her voice started to get tense. I gripped the phone tighter, knowing I wouldn't like what was coming next.

"Marcus said that our company had lost every single one of our donors. The bastard wouldn't say how, or why, but he explained that, as of tomorrow, Jeanine would be our owner. If that wasn't enough, Marcus also said that Jeanine wanted to hold a new audition to make sure we all meet her standards. It'll take place tomorrow, so come to rehearsal wearing all black"

Someone knocked on my door.

I hung up on Christina, unable to say goodbye and too upset to be nice.

Before I reached my door, it swung upon.

"I have some bad news," Four sighed.

Scrambling for my pen and paper, I wrote: _Christina just told me. What happened to all of our benefactors? Did Marcus mention it to you?_

Four shook his head and entered my apartment. "No."

He knew more than he was telling me.

"Are you going to replace your burnt furniture anytime soon?" Four asked as he wandered around my house and surveyed my kitchen. "Your house could be the center of a scary story."

_I can't afford it, you asshole. I'm poor. I can't ask my parents for money, either, because we fought awhile back and haven't made up yet._

Nodding, Four said, "Are you ready for the audition tomorrow? We can practice now, if you feel like it."

That was his way of saying let's dance together again.

_No, idiot, you need to rest for the audition tomorrow. I can't have you getting kicked off after I spent so much of my precious time teaching you._

Four, about to say something, got cut off by another knock at my door. We exchanged confused faces as I answered the door.

"Tris and… Four," My mom exclaimed.

Four greeted my mom politely, but I raised an eyebrow at her.

"I came here to talk," she quickly explained. To Four she said, "Excuse me, Mr…. what was your last name?"

"Eaton, ma'am."

Mom's eyes widened. "As in Marcus's son? Could you please give me and my daughter some alone time? And tell Evie hi for me next time you see her."

_Evie? _I scribbled. Something was fucking wrong.

"It's the nickname I gave Evelyn when we danced together."

_Four's mom? You used to dance with her? _I added dozens of question marks and exclamation points to show how fucking mind blowing everything was.

Mom turned to Four, "Has Evelyn ever talked about it? We were really close. I was her bridesmaid when she married Marcus."

"She mentions you a lot," Four said. His eyes never left the ground. "Every chance she gets, actually."

"Huh," my mom said. "That's surprising."

_Why? Why is it surprising? Why is nobody telling the mute girl anything? _This was an instance where the bystanders were lucky I was mute or else I'd be screaming profanities till I got my answers.

"I think I should go," Four walked towards the door. "You and your mom can talk this over tonight, but make sure you get enough sleep for the audition tomorrow."

The asshole left without a glance back. How dare he piss me off so much without a giving single answer?

"Audition? I thought you were already in the company? Unless you're trying out for something else?" Mom asked as the door shut.

_I'll tell you after you explain Evelyn to me. _

**Thanks to Clatoforeverinmyheart, ValeriaCarolina, , AwesomeTooAwesome, and (Guest) for reviewing the last chapter.**


	15. Chapter 15

Talk about dance? Dance is not something to talk about. Dance is to dance. ~Peter Saint James

Why do modern dancers dance in bare feet?

Modern dance values a weighted use of the body in relation to the earth - as opposed to ballet, which is more concerned with resisting gravity. Dancing in bare feet enables the dancer to connect directly with the floor. After dancing in bare feet for a long time, generally the soles of a dancer's feet adjust and toughen. Some modern dancers put tape on their toes and the balls of their feet to make it easier to turn and slide.

My mom began her story.

"I was considered a prodigy among prodigies, but not overnight. I was home schooled my entire life and finished the high school courses at the age of 15. While I was home schooled, I spent six hours a day doing school work and ten hours dancing, even on the weekends. I didn't think it was weird because I didn't have any friends to say so.

"My house had a ballet studio inside of it. I practiced day and night so that, when I was 15, I was invited to join the Joffery Ballet in New York. I barely spent a year in the corps de ballet before becoming a demi-soloist. From there, I kept improving, dancing almost 17 hours a day, until I became prima ballerina at 19.

"However, I need to back track a little bit. I met Evelyn when I was 16. She had been a home schooled ballerina as well, and a prodigy. She could remember dance steps after only seeing them once. Her technique was that of a seasoned professional soloist. Naturally, the Joffery Ballet scooped her up like they did with me.

"We became attached instantly. As the only two underage girls on the company, it was natural. We were a lot alike, too. We would spend countless hours after the company rehearsing the same moves because our goal, like all ballerinas, was perfection.

"Evelyn lacked talent in one crucial area: facials. She had a hard time bringing the emotions to her performance. She became a demi-soloist very quickly, but stayed there even as I became prima ballerina.

"When we were 18, Marcus joined the ballet company. Evelyn became infatuated right away, but I could never see her and Marcus getting together. She was dedicated, heart and soul, to ballet dancing while Marcus always seemed to be only half interested."

Marcus? Half interested in dancing? My mind was fucking blown.

I cut in, _But they still got married, right?_

"Yes, four years later, but only because Marcus had gotten Evelyn pregnant. She was so excited even though it meant she had to quit ballet."

_Why quit? Couldn't she take a maternity leave?_

"No," mom shook her head. "A maternity leave is too long to be away from ballet. Once you're out for that long, it's impossible to jump right into where you were before.

"Anyways, a few months after Evelyn's child was born, she told me she missed dancing. She was determined to get back and convinced the director to give her back her spot on the company, but was nothing like she was before. This drove Evelyn crazy and she became obsessed with reaching her old level of dancing.

"Around that time, I was invited on a trip to Africa. It was to help deliver food and supplies to the hungry; a standard charity trip. I said yes because I had never been on a non-dance vacation before and it was only a few days out of a week between show seasons.

"I fell in love with the volunteer work. It touched my heart in a way dancing didn't and, when I returned home, dance no longer felt fulfilling. The decision was almost impossible to make, I mean, how could I choose between something I had spent my entire life doing and something else that could just be a passing phase? In the end, I quit the company and went to college where I met your father."

That couldn't be the entire story.

_What happened to Evelyn? _

Mom avoided my eyes when she said "Evelyn was extremely angry at me for quitting. She said she was disgusted with me for being able to leave ballet so easily and quite enraged that quit before she surpassed me."

_Is that what she said? _I scribbled.

"Yes, but with a lot more yelling. I heard through the grapevine that, a year later, Marcus quit the ballet company and joined a modern one. He divorced Evelyn and she was kicked out of the company."

I almost felt sorry for Evelyn. The bitch had been on a solid downward spiral.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My mom had gone home after treating me to some food. She offered to help pay for my ruined apartment too, but I wasn't in the mood to accept charity and declined.

At the studio the next morning, everyone was decked out in their tradition solid black audition clothes. A table with three chairs stood at the front of the room. That would be the judge's positions.

"Are you nervous?" Four asked.

I rolled my eyes. The asshole's question was fucking obvious.

Hell yes.

Lynn walked towards us, "Have you heard who the three judges are?"

Quickly, I wrote: _One of them has to be Jeanen._

"Who is Jeanen?" Lynn asked. "A classy stripper?"

"I think she means Jeanine," Four clarified.

In my defense, I didn't finish high school. I wasn't obliged to know how to spell random lady's damn names.

Marcus clapped his hands and called the company over; saving me from further spelling humiliation.

"We're about to begin the audition," Marcus announced. "Please try your hardest. I have no say in the judging, so don't think you can get by on company seniority or past good behavior."

As if on cue, the three judges walked in. I recognized Jeanine straightaway from her Facebook picture. After mom had left, I had stalked Jeanine on the internet to try and understand who I was auditioning for.

I was auditioning for a monster.

It was the good kind of monster. She was rich and had her own successful dance background littered with achievements both national and international.

The other two judges introduced themselves, but were unfamiliar and extremely plain. I forgot their names easily and focused on my dancing as the audition was set to begin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The audition itself was normal and consisted of the basic trinity: Barre, across the floor, and combinations.

However, I wasn't wracked with the normal anxiety an audition brought. The mood was very different than a normal audition. My fellow dancers and I were already well acquainted, so there was none of the usual trying to assess your competition out of the corner of your eye while you were dancing.

As the audition neared its end, I realized that my lack of anxiety wasn't a good thing. Anxiety was what kept a person aware. During a dance audition, it kept you constantly checking and double checking your technique. Without it, you become too relaxed and start to forget things.

A small panic set in.

"That's enough for today," Jeanine announced.

The dancers filed out of the door silently.

Four found his way next to me and remarked, "That wasn't so bad."

I shrugged. Something felt wrong.

"Did something happen? You don't seem as confident," he said as we approached the dressing rooms.

With fake vigor, I wrote: _I'm confident I kicked your ass._

"And I'm confident that you're lying."

We split and entered our respective dressing rooms. In a surprising change of pace, I wasn't mad that the asshole could tell I was lying. It meant he had felt the same way before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The list was up the next day.

And I wasn't on it.

**Thanks to AwesomeTooAwesome, Guest, Goalphabeticalorder, HPDS, ValeriaCarolina, Clatoforeverinmyheart, and fishpuppy (x2) for reviewing the last chapter. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance. ~Ezra Pound**

**On May 24th, 1998, the greatest ever number of tap dancers gathered for a single routine at the Stuttgart City Square in Germany**

"It has to be some kind of mistake," Four reasoned as he came to my side. "We should ask Marcus about it."

I couldn't move. I couldn't register anything around me. My eyes just stayed focused on the spot where my name should have been.

I think Christina hugged me and Lynn said she was sorry. I vaguely remembered Four going off to find Marcus, but I grabbed his hand and shook my head. All I wanted was to go home and sleep.

Four drove me home. There had been heartfelt goodbyes at the studio, but I wasn't ready to think about them yet. I had been the only one not on the list, so I tried to be glad for the rest of my friends.

It was hard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I slept for ages. On accident, I woke up and started getting ready for rehearsal in a panic because I thought I was late. The truth hit me pretty hard, and when I cried there was still no sound so I cried even harder.

Four called and texted me. I didn't answer. He tried to come over a few times, but I made sure everything was locked so he couldn't sneak in.

A few days later, I began to get restless. It was a good thing because it made me realize some important things.

Like how fucking much I needed a new job.

All of the auditions for dance companies had ended months ago. I would have to wait a year before I could even think about joining another one.

With nothing better to do, I threw myself into finding a new job that required no qualifications, experience, or talking. There weren't many, so, whenever my computer died from spending too many hours on job finding websites, I tried to work on talking again.

It never worked.

Eventually, I scored an interview with some weird coffee shop that emphasized organics and whose logo was the embodiment of the 60s. The owner thought I was interesting and not hopeless, but that might have been because of the drugs I had caught him smoking outside right before the interview.

I got the job with explicit instructions to report to work at 5 A.M. the next morning.

Whoop-de-fucking-do

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was awake before the sun.

There were so many damn things wrong with that.

My manager taught me how to make drinks. I thought I was doing well until some lady came in asking for coffee whose name was longer than I could write on the cup. I messed that order up pretty badly and was asked by my manager to please take my break now.

And then Peter walked in.

"It's the girl who can't do anything," was the first thing he said when he saw me. "How's it going, Tris? Still can't talk? I'm sure it hurt to learn that you can't dance either."

I continued making his coffee. It was another one of those coffees whose name was too long. The coffee of assholes, I declared it.

"I saw Four the other day. He told me he'll be back in ballet within a couple of weeks," Peter remarked, "Right after Dance Magazine interviews him about his amazing switch from ballet to modern and then back again. They have to keep tabs on their prodigies after all."

I handed him his coffee, but he didn't go away.

The fucking douche bag just stood there, staring at me. There weren't any other customers, so I had nothing else to do than stare back at him. My manager gave me a look, but I had seen him smoking drugs with the owner yesterday and I knew I didn't have to worry about being bothered.

He nervously switched his coffee to his other hand. "I heard something that you'll want to know. Something really important."

His change of tone caught me off guard, but I wasn't stupid. At any moment, the little fucker could throw his coffee at me or say something insulting.

"Marcus came to the ballet studio yesterday. He stormed straight to Evelyn's office. I'm not sure if you know this, but Evelyn is one of the studio's directors. When Marcus stormed in there, Evelyn had been in a meeting. He pulled her out of the meeting and ranted loud enough that those of us down the hall could hear him.

"He kept asking why Evelyn had convinced all his benefactors to pull out and why Jeanine bought the company. Evelyn didn't reply once until the very end. She had announced that Four had neglected to fulfill her wishes and that her plan was taking longer than necessary. She wants Four back in the ballet studio before the next production, but will force him to stay in modern forever if he can't do what she wants."

I reached for my pen and paper. _Why the fuck do you care about Four? Why are you telling me? _I resisted the urge to react until I knew everything.

"I hate Four," Peter said."

I started to turn away. If that was his reason, it didn't make any sense and I was worried that, if I heard him talk shit about Four, I would start a brawl. That would definitely get me fired, and I had yet to decide whether that was good or bad.

"Let me finish," Peter called and I turned back to him. "I hate Four, but I'm not stupid. He's an amazing ballet dancer and I'm man enough to admit that I'm jealous of him. But, no matter how good he is at ballet, he sucks ass at modern. You see it. I see it.

"There's only one thing we have in common: it's that we dance. As fellow dancers, we should be honest with ourselves: Four doing modern is _wrong. _Practically unnatural.

"When I saw him dance modern, I was disgusted. Not simply because it was modern, but because Four was disgusting. Don't try to deny it. He belongs in the ballet world whether it wants him there or not."

Fucking shit damn it all.

Peter was right. The very thought made me want to crawl under a rock, but, no matter how much I tried to unthink it, I couldn't. When I had seen Four doing modern, I had ignored the little dancer in my brain that scorned him and wanted to kick him off the stage. I had simply thought it was because I was jealous that Four could be on the stage while I was broken and sitting on the sidelines.

_What do you think you're going to do about it?_

Peter turned and started to leave. "I'm not going to do anything. You are."

As the door closed behind Peter, I threw a coffee cup at him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I arrived at my apartment exhausted. Working with people all day really pissed me off.

A note hung on my door.

_Dear Tris,_

_ I have something important to tell you. I'm going to pick you up for dinner tomorrow night at 7._

_-Four_

**Thanks to Rubiksmaniac, Mrs. Eaton (Guest), Anne (Guest),Tobias-is-mine-bitches, ValeriaCarolina, Guest, fourthchakra, , Ashley (Guest), Divergent 207 (Guest), Guest, AwesomeTooAwesome, for reviewing the last chapter. **


	17. Chapter 17

**First ballroom dance** **that was ever created is Italian ****Viennese Waltz**.

**Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music. ~William Stafford**

I got fired from my job at the coffee place the next morning. The manager claimed that I wasn't allowed to throw cups at customers (Which was a ridiculous rule) and I had messed up one drink too many after Peter left. The news wasn't crushing since I was so excited to see Four tonight, but I did need a new job.

Well… that could wait until tomorrow.

The day dragged by and Four showed up at my door exactly two minutes before seven.

But it's not like I was counting or anything.

I wasn't.

Four grinned as the door swung open. "Ready to go?"

_Fuck yes_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So Peter showed up?" Four asked. He twirled his spaghetti around his fork more times than necessary before taking a bite.

The two of us sat at a table in a small Italian restaurant. Apparently, Four knew the owners pretty well because when we walked in the hostess kissed his check. For a moment I assumed she was his girlfriend and was worried that the hot muscular Italian waiters would think I was a ho. Shit might have gone down if Four hadn't clarified immediately after.

_Yes, and that asshole Peter got me fired. _Although that was mostly my own damn fault. _But he also said that you would return to your ballet company soon._

"It's complicated," Four concentrated rather intensely on his pasta as he pushed it around his plate. "Now that you're not dancing, Evelyn thinks she has won and is no longer forcing me to stay. I'm only staying till the next performance so that the company members don't have to redo positions and everything."

I guess I didn't have to worry about what Peter said anymore.

_Evelyn won? Won what? _I wrote so quickly that I wiped a bit of pasta sauce on the paper.

"It's complicated."

No fucking way. That excuse didn't cut it, asshole.

_Tell me damn it. _

"I said it's complicated."

_Filling out job applications is fucking complicated. Talking is not. You need to explain why the hell this woman I barely know seems to be connected to everything I do and always fucks shit up. _

"You're getting too worked up, Tris."

Damn right I was getting worked up. I held the fork in my hand like a weapon and began to stab violently at my pasta. I shoved mouthful after mouthful into my mouth and occasionally forgot to breathe.

Then I swallowed.

And Four had never looked more frightened.

"Tris-"

"Listen up, Four. Tobias. Whatever the fuck your name is," I growled. "I haven't danced in weeks. I won't get to dance again for who knows how many more. By that time, it may be too late to return. All my flexibility and strength will disappear just like my damn spot on the company did. You told me you had something to tell me tonight, but you haven't told me a single damn thing yet besides it's complicated. I'm going to storm to the bathroom now because I hate that the only times I'm not mute are to yell at you."

And I stormed to the bathroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That really wasn't one of my better plans.

The bathroom offered no way to escape, so I locked myself in a stall and muffled my crying whenever someone walked in. I had no idea when the restaurant closed, but it seemed like I would have to stay there all night. Whenever I gained a few moments of composure, I would peek out the bathroom door and see Four still sitting right where I left him.

Was he waiting for me?

Whatever the answer, I wouldn't leave the restroom till he left.

Since my little tirade, I hadn't tried to speak once. I was too frightened that no sound would come out again, so, until I proved otherwise, I tried to focus on how I was no longer mute.

But, to be honest, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Forever seemed to pass and then the bathroom door opened.

"Tris?"

That was Four's voice.

Four's voice was in the girl's bathroom.

I stifled a small giggle. The asshole was both an asshole and a pervert.

"I heard that. Tris, can you please get out of that stall and- whoa. Why is there a full length mirror in the bathroom? And… is that soap? Is that why girls smell nice? Do they steal this stuff and keep it in their bras or something?"

Giggles bubbled in my stomach. I couldn't help it. All of my tears were long gone and my anger had settled into neutrality an hour ago. The only emotions left to show were happy ones.

"You know, Tris, I've only gotten to hear your voice one other time. That was to yell at me, too. If you come out and let me hear your voice I'll… I'll tell you everything."

I went still.

"It'll be really hard to hear. I don't know how I'll be able to even say it, but I'll force myself to. Just come out of the bathroom stall now."

I didn't have to put much thought into it. As much as I felt emotionally volatile right now, I was sick of sitting on top of a toilet plus my shoe was all wet from a little slip up. I stood and unlocked the door as slowly as possible.

"You better tell me everything," I whispered.

Fuck yea, I still had my voice.

Four nodded and began to leave the bathroom.

"You better tell me everything in _here," _I corrected.

"In- In the girl's… are you sure?"

"You had no problem waltzing in here to get me. What's a few more minutes going to do?"

"Destroy my masculinity."

With a shrug, I sat on the floor and patted the spot next to me to beckon Four over. "You never had that anyways."

And thus began the conversation that wiped away everything I knew.


	18. Chapter 18

**To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful. ~Agnes De Mille**

"The first thing you have to understand is that my mom, Evelyn, isn't just _mad _at your mom," Four began. "She's furious. She can't believe that she could never beat 'that stupid Natalie.' And then your mom quit ballet and Evelyn's anger exploded. In her mind, Natalie became scum when she had abandoned dance so easily and, even worse, quit before Evelyn could beat her.

"About a year later, Evelyn was fired from the dance company. Her anger towards Natalie became akin to a hobby and all she wanted was to beat her. Along the way, she had heard Natalie was having a child. I have no clue how she found out, but I wouldn't put it past her to have personally tapped into your mom's phone line."

This bitch sounded like she needed to spend a few months in the loony bin.

"She was positive that Natalie would enroll her child in dance classes, so Evelyn did the same with me. Except Evelyn's only goal was to beat Natalie, which meant she pushed and pushed me into dance. I'm really lucky that I love it, or else I would have gone crazy years ago.

"When I started doing competitions at the age of five, two things happened. I began gaining my current prodigy status in the ballet world and Evelyn began to get rich. Some of the money came from me as people started to want to pay me to wear their clothes, but a lot of it was from a… side job."

The way he said side job was a little too ominous. I whispered, "It's not the legal sort of side job, is it?"

Four shook his head. "More like the illegal-better-not-to-talk-about-it kind of side job."

"I might need a drink after this," I sighed, "and you'll be footing the bill since I'm shit poor."

Ignoring me, Four continued. "When Evelyn got a lot of money, she used it to spread her influence among as many dance companies as should could. Money was no problem for her, and still isn't, and the dance companies weren't stupid. They recognized that, if they were on Evelyn's side, she would donate as much money as they needed. This gave Evelyn a lot of connections in the dance world.

"Using these connections, she tried to locate you and Natalie. She assumed that you would have been a rising ballet star as well because, in her mind, you and Natalie were one and the same. Anything your mom did, you were supposed to have done as well. This also meant any anger directed at Natalie was directed at you too.

"The problem came in when she couldn't find a trace of you anywhere. Why had no one heard of this ballet star? Well, now it's obvious. You never were a ballet star or a ballet _anything. _The first time Evelyn heard you name was when you applied for that dance school."

Crap. I didn't like where this was going.

"The director wasn't sure if it would be okay to accept you. A girl who ran away from home, even if it was for dance, could have spelled a bad decision. Evelyn used some of her- uh, influence to convince him to accept you."

I slapped the ground and said, "Influence? As in she paid him off?"

"I wouldn't say it like that," Four shook his head. "Anyways, that isn't really my point. Then-"

"Damn it, Four, stop talking for a second. This is a big deal for me. Evelyn paid for me to go to high school, but she hates me?" I growled. "This all makes no fucking sense."

"She didn't pay for you to-"

"She god damn bribed the director.

Four countered, "It doesn't even matter now."

"Except it does. If you haven't noticed, my dance career hasn't exactly been successfully lately. Knowing that it started based on a lie is… I don't know. I don't know what it is and now I'm angry because I'm stupid," I crossed my arms.

We were silent.

"At least you finally admitted it," Four grinned.

"What?"

"That you're stupid. Now, do you want the rest of the story or would you rather keep complaining about your intelligence?"

After giving Four a quick smack, I answered that I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"Evelyn kept an eye on you throughout high school," he continued. "My ballet career was going so well and you were so set on modern that she wasn't sure how to make us face each other. Then, we finally joined our own dance companies and, when you joined Marcus's, Evelyn realized that she would need Marcus's cooperation to make her plan happen. Marcus refused at the beginning. He hated Evelyn so much that nothing she bribed him with could convince him, but then Evelyn found something to convince him."

Possible blackmail options swirled through my head: was Marcus a drug addict? Sex addict? Child stealer? Porn star? A combination of them?

"During her not-so-legal dealings, Evelyn had used Marcus's name, address, birthday, and any other piece of private information you can think of to give to her partners. She made them believe Marcus was the one they were working with and she was the go between. Then, apparently she purposely withheld the partner's pay and told Marcus that if he didn't help her the partners would be after him to get their money. Marcus gave in to her."

"Do you know who these illegal people were?" I asked.

"Tris, if I did, do you still think they would be out there?" Four sighed.

I wasn't going to mention that it had crossed my mind that Four had done some of the illegal dealing.

I pressed on about the subject, "What do you know about them?"

"Why does it matter? There's more to the story," Four said. I stared at him. "God, Tris, I don't know. They're terrorists."

I yelped, "What? I thought you meant drug dealers or something. Four, terrorists-"

"Don't you think I know that? I've been trying to find them. I haven't been able to find a single thing! I've overheard a few things from Evelyn's phone conversations and, god damn, something big is going to happen. Lately, Evelyn should have been happy. She 'won', but she wasn't satisfied. I heard her say that it wasn't enough to beat you. She needs Natalie gone for good," Four panted.

Grabbing for Four's hand, I squeezed it. "Why's she getting so crazy?"

"I can't be sure, but… but there's something I have to tell you," Four said. Reluctantly, he continued, "It's going to be hard to hear, but please don't leave until I've explained it all."

Shit. I've seen enough movies to know that moments like this never end well.

"Tris," Four whispered, "Evelyn convinced Marcus and… is that a candy machine?"

"What?" I glanced around.

Four pointed to the white box on the wall. "Why does the girl's bathroom have a candy machine?"

"Candy ma- oh. Tampons. It's a tampon dispenser," I explained.

"Oh."

I nudged Four's arm. "That wasn't what you were going to say, asshole. C'mon, just get it the fuck over with."

Slowly, Four said, "You remember that accident? When you were shot and then ambulance was hit and Will… Will died?"

Of course I remembered. I'm a mess, but I'm not stupid.

I nodded.

"Evelyn made… this is hard to say. I don't know how to not make it sound bad. EvelynmadeMarcusshotyouandIhityourambulancewithaca randthenMarcushityouovertheheadwithametaltraywhich mayhavetramatizedyousomuchyoulostyourvoice," Four said as fast as possible.

**Thanks to Divergentforever (Guest), Ilovedivergent (Guest), ValeriaCarolina, Goalphabeticalorder (Guest), Guest, , Rubiksmaniac, Guest, AwesomeTooAwesome, Guest, and fourtris4 for reviewing the last chapter.**


	19. Chapter 19

"**Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world."- Voltaire**

At first, I hadn't realized what he said. I grinned, preparing to tell him to say it again and, this time, not like a child about to shit is pants.

But then I realized what he said and all I could do was stare.

Four continued, "Evelyn blackmailed both of us. You have to understand, Tris, I didn't want to do it. I didn't think anyone would die. All I knew was that I had no choice."

Since I was in shock, I couldn't bring my voice above a whisper. "You had a choice. Whatever Evelyn had said or done to convince you to do such a sick thing-"

"She threatened to take away my dancing," Four explained.

I moved to stand up, but Four grabbed my wrist. I shook him off and said, "Well, that's fucking bullshit, Four, because you did what she said and Evelyn still took away your dancing, didn't she? It's been months since you've done ballet. Deny it all you want, but you haven't danced in a way that you love to in _months_. You loved dance so much to kill for it, but you're not God and you shouldn't decide who lives and dies."

"But, Tris-"

"But nothing. Leave me alone."

My phone rang. I considered not picking it up, but the caller ID read Caleb's name and he never called unless he had something important to say.

"What's up, Caleb?" I greeted and ignored the way Four stared at me.

"Tris, the- you can talk again? Whatever," he said. Caleb spoke quickly, which he only did when he was nervous. "The U.S. Embassy in Libya was bombed by terrorists!"

"That's horrible," I remarked, "But I would have heard about that sooner or later on my own. What's the big deal?"

"Mom and dad were there."

My phone clattered to the floor.

"What's wrong? Tris?" Four asked. He went to pick up my phone, but I lunged for it and snapped it closed. If I didn't hear Caleb say anything else, I could almost pretend it hadn't happened.

With a shaky breath, I asked Four, "What has Evelyn recently been doing with her terrorist friends?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just answer!" I yelled and then glanced at the door. I prayed that no one would walk in.

"She's been planning something big, but I don't know what it is," Four shrugged. "Apparently the terrorists want help with an act of their own that benefits Evelyn as well. I've never heard any actual plans though."

"Well, they definitely had plans," I struggled to keep my voice even. "You'll hear about them on the news tonight."

I ran out of there and into the street.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few minutes into my running, I found a bench to park my ass on and sat with my head in my hands. I didn't want to move. Finally, I forced my hand to dial my phone and call Caleb back. I needed to know if mom and dad were still alive.

"How are they?" I asked the moment he picked up.

"I don't have any concrete information," Caleb said. His voice was calmer than before, but he couldn't hide the shakiness from me. "A lot of people are dead. Even more critically injured. The person who called me, a friend of our parent's who was nearby but not inside the embassy, had said mom and dad were both in unstable and critical condition. They had been close to the blast."

"They're not dead?" I squeaked in hope.

"Yet," Caleb exhaled slowly. "They're being treated in a hospital somewhere in London. Even if we wanted to go visit them-"

"I'm going to London," I decided.

"Wha- Tris, think this through. How could you afford a trip? And you didn't even let me finish my sentence. Even if we wanted to visit them, it's probably no visitors."

I get up from the bench and start walking home, already planning for my trip to London. "Don't you care about mom and dad? I need to be by their side and you should want to be too."

"Tris, don't make me sound like the bad guy. I love mom and dad, but think logically," I can hear Caleb's frustration.

"That's the thing, Caleb. You're the thinker, and I'm the doer. If I start thinking too much, my body might shut down from shock."

"I can't believe you can joke right now."

Kick a rock down the side walk, I tell Caleb, "A lot has been going on lately. This trip isn't going to be just for mom and dad. I need to get away from here."

"But you don't need to go to London. Can you even afford a plane ticket? If you need to get away that badly, just come and live with me."

"You're wife won't like that," I remarked. "Anyways, stop worrying about your broke ass sister and worry instead about our parents."

"You know I can't just stop worrying about you. And with mom and dad… uh- sidetracked, I need to worry enough for the three of us. I need to help you. Let me pay for your plane ticket. My wife will understand."

"Sure, but I plan on leaving tomorrow, so could you buy it right now?"

He sighs, tells me he'll email me the ticket details within the hour, and hangs up in defeat. I think he expected me to argue more with him on paying for my plane ticket, but I wasn't blind to my money problems. I was taking help where I could get it.

I arrived at my apartment in one piece, which, after recent events, seems like a miracle. I begin packing right away to keep my mind busy. If I don't have something to do, I might start thinking about how my parents could die at any moment or how much I can't stand Four or how I am using all of my savings for this trip.

I fall asleep in the middle of packing with my suit case wide open and my face in a pile of clothes.

My phone receives a single text from Four that I read the next morning: I'll stop her.

**A/N- Has anyone finished Allegiant? I did. I cried. I'm eating my feelings.**

**A/N #2- I wasn't sure if this chapter would be done today. I hadn't written anything on Saturday (I met Veronica Roth instead, so it's a good excuse), and when I opened my computer this morning I only had two sentences for this chapter. I finished it somehow.**

**Thanks to Guest, Tivativativa, Divergentforever (Guest), Guest, Doodle0505, dauntlesspanem, ValeriaCarolina, laurel-madness, Rubiksmaniac, mangre275, AwesomeTooAwesome, , Ydissbooksogood, Allegiantin1day (Guest), fourtris4, and Guest for reviewing the last chapter. **


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